


Prohibited

by 6mgs7



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 1932, Alcohol, Bootleggers, Character Deaths, Colorado, Drugs, Federal Agent, Great Depression, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Mobster Terry, Mountains, Outfitters, Prohibition, Prostitution, Slow Burn, Whiskey - Freeform, alternative universe, no bipolar except for the weather, rich gallaghers, speakeasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 59
Words: 151,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/6mgs7
Summary: Set in 1932 near the end of the Prohibition Era, Federal Agent Mickey Milkovich is assumed dead at the hands of his mobster father, and has to leave town when an all out war breaks out among the Families.  He comes across Bootlegger/Speakeasy Owner Ian Gallagher on his trek across the country in a small Colorado mountain town. With the mob still searching for answers and the Feds looking too closely into the Gallagher's businesses, he'll soon have to choose between duty and his heart.





	1. Excerpt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Farrahwall4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farrahwall4/gifts), [gv16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gv16/gifts), [ABRJNS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABRJNS/gifts).



> This first chapter is really just an excerpt. 
> 
> Poorly Edited Work: All errors are my own, and I'm sure there are plenty.  
> #EditWhenImDead
> 
> Prohibited Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUOWc5bom23DZBdwixRvDInHxeU6_tuip

They still lived on the South Side, and they still ran across the older three Milkovich boys from time to time, but there was some unspoken rule that now hung over everyone: Mickey and Mandy were no longer part of The Family and all communication stopped when they left. Since that time, Iggy had seen him less than two dozen times - usually out on the streets, and without much more than a nod of acknowledgement to one another. They had been close once. They had been each other's best friend, and Iggy wanted to believe they'd always have some connection between them - something that told the other if circumstances were different they could drop all the bullshit between them and still be ok. Still be brothers. 

As he drove closer to the lake, he tried to remember the last time he'd seen either of his younger siblings, and was shocked to realize it had been nearly 3 years. He'd run into them downtown when Mickey had been seeing Mandy off at the train station just about a week before Christmas. She had already taken her seat near a window on the train when Iggy literally walked straight into Mickey, because like the dumbass he was he hadn’t been paying attention to the people milling about the platform. Mickey had pushed him back forcefully, about to yell at the asshole to watch where he was going, before he realized it was Iggy. They briefly held each others eyes and breathed their hellos to one another before Mickey quickly looked away from his older brother. Iggy followed Mickey’s eyes up to the train window, seeing the youngest of the Milkovich siblings looking back at him. He gave a small wave of his hand in Mandy's direction which she didn't return. Mandy's eyes were large and worried as she watched the subtle exchange between her two estranged brothers. Iggy understood then that the trust he wished existed between the three of them really never would. They were strangers to each other - silent enemies, due to nothing they had chosen for themselves, but rather the sins of their father. 


	2. Good Enough For Capone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All errors are my own - and I'm sure there are plenty!

Mickey Milkovich filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove. He searched the shelf next to him for a box of matches to light the pilot as the phone began to ring in the hallway.  It was already past 6, and it was his first day off in weeks, so he was hesitant to answer since no one he knew outside of the office would be calling him this late.  Fact was, he hardly knew anyone at all outside of the office.   His family, what little there was left was either thousands of miles away, or hadn’t been on speaking terms with him for more than a decade.  He turned the gas up a bit on the stove to get the pot boiling then went to answer the call.

“Yeah, Milkovich here.”  There were a few second of silence on the other end of the call before his partner’s voice came through the line. 

“Hey, it’s Sullivan.  Listen, Caffrey just stopped by the office.  Said something about a warehouse over there near Calumet. Wants us to go check it out – see if we can locate those files that went missing from your desk this week.”

His tone seemed a bit off but Mickey marked it off to the long week they’d just finished.  ‘Long week’ was an understatement– it had been a long fucking year for both of them. That and the fact that Mickey and his partner could barely tolerate to be around each other most days.

“Are you fucking kidding me?  I have someone…”  Mickey hesitated, reconsidering his comment.  Partner or not, Sullivan and him had been skating thin ice with one another the past four months.  Everyone in the department had noticed, but had assumed it was probably just the stress of the job.  Mickey knew better though.  Things between him and Sullivan had never been perfect, but they took a nose dive one late night after the office had shut down. 

Mickey had stayed late that night to help one of the visiting D.C. attorney go through case files for an upcoming court case.  For reasons still unknown to either of them, Sullivan showed up at the office after midnight and walked in on the attorney down on his knees with Mickey’s pants down around his ankles and his fingers curled tight in the attorney’s hair. He watched them together another minute before making his presence known, sending the attorney fumbling away and Mickey fully exposed in more ways than one.

Sullivan, an old Irish police department vet, born and bred on Chicago’s South Side, just about lost his shit.  That homosexual bullshit didn’t sit right with him, and he did everything in his power after that to get Mickey reassigned to a different desk. That is, everything just short of giving up Mickey’s secret to their boss or anyone else.  While he couldn’t stand the sight of Mickey, he was thirty years Mickey’s senior, and scared shitless of him.  

Mickey was a force to be reckoned with, in his own right.   He was also born and raised South Side, but unlike Sullivan, he hadn’t had the luxury of a middle-class family upbringing.  Mickey had spent most of his young life being raised by some of Chicago’s toughest, most ruthless gangsters.  And while money had never been a factor in his father’s house, Mickey had never seen a single dime of it outside of the bare necessities. It wasn’t until he was in his teens that he was taken from that world. Even then, the harsh, ruthless fighting mentality had not left his blood.  He was tough as nails and Sullivan knew Mickey could bury him at a moments notice.

If timing had been different, maybe Sullivan would have had his way, but with Alphonso Capone’s arrest still fresh in the press, their boss, Lt. Caffrey, made it clear that Mickey wasn’t going anywhere.  They needed every man on the force and in the office.  Caffrey told Sullivan to figure it the fuck out, so here they were, four months later, silently and awkwardly avoiding any memory of that night at the office, and avoiding each other as often as possible. 

“I told Caffrey I was busy tonight.” Mickey continued, “I thought we had the weekend off.  Why can’t this wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“Fuck if I know, Milkovich.  Listen, I’m not that keen about having to be there all night either,” he left the ‘ _with your homosexual ass_ ’ part out, but the bite in his voice rang loud and clear.

“Yeah, all right.  Let me fuckin’ call and cancel my plans.” _Fuck_ , he thought. It never failed that his job seemed to cock block him out of a decent fuck at every opportunity. 

“Good.  Listen, I also need you to swing by and pick me up. My car’s at the garage ‘til Monday.”

Mickey gripped his hand around his temples, frustrated and held in the urge to groan or scream out loud.

“Milkovich… d’you hear me?”

“Yes, I fucking heard you!”  He snapped.  “I’ll be outside your place in twenty.”  He slammed the receiver in its cradle, ending the conversation without another word. He kicked the wall then lifted the receiver again to call off his ‘date’ – if it could even be called a date. It was really just a hook up with a few drinks beforehand, which was as close to a date as Mickey ever got.  Nothing about his life made _dating_ possible, and that was without taking into account the fact that he didn’t date _women_ … ever.

 _What the fuck ever,_ he told himself.  It wasn’t like he was planning a future with this guy – just a quick drink and a fuck. Another always came along. After a fifteen second phone call to cancel, he turned the gas off on the stove, grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Nights like this reminded him why he wanted to get the fuck out of Chicago and start over someplace new.  Someplace where he was unknown and could live his life… free.

***

The foreman at the warehouse crossed his arms, eyeing Mickey up and down suspiciously.  He didn’t budge from the doorway to let him or Sullivan by.  Mickey was teetering on the edge of his patience, ready to throw this guy into a wall if he continued to waste another minute of his night off, but Sullivan quickly stepped in between them, before Mickey could say or do anything more to piss the foreman off.  The last thing they needed was to get banned from the site and have to go back to Caffrey to explain how Mickey’s big mouth got in the way again. 

Sullivan pulled the guy aside for a minute to talk.  They spoke in hushed voices, with brief side glances back over at Mickey, before the foreman finally gave in, shaking his head and letting them both in.  His crew was about to leave for the night and he had no intention of staying behind himself to keep an eye on the two men, but once Sullivan had shown him their credentials, he seemed satisfied enough to leave them there on their own.

“What was that about?”  Mickey scoffed as Sullivan led the way into the warehouse.

“Nothing.  I talked to the owner earlier today, but I guess he forgot to tell his foreman we were coming by. The place closes in 15 minutes, and he didn’t want to stick around on a Friday, you know?”  

Wait...hadn't Sullivan told him on the phone that Caffrey just brought this up this evening? Mickey was about to ask about it when Sullivan held up a key, “I told him we’d lock up when we were done and I’d personally make sure to deliver this back to him by morning.”

Sullivan lead the way to the back of the warehouse as Mickey assured himself it was just his distrust for Sullivan in general that was playing with him. _Earlier today_ must have just meant after Caffrey made the call to send them out there. 

They spent forty minutes going through boxes filled with records that were probably more than twenty years old.  Mickey was getting more and more pissed with every minute they wasted, knowing they were wasting their time going through these dust covered boxes.  There was no way these could be the boxes that had gone missing from his desk just a week earlier.  The boxes they were searching had a quarter inch of dust on them, and had obviously been sitting untouched for months or even years. Those that had been on Mickey’s desk were newer and definitely cleaner – but Sullivan was the one leading the search tonight, so Mickey just looked where he was told to look.

On top of it, Sullivan seemed to have picked the most remote, untouched area of the warehouse to search, making all their efforts even less productive than Mickey thought was possible. Sullivan spent his time moving boxes from one shelf to another without even bothering to look in them. After a while, Mickey began to do the same, just to see how long it would take Sullivan to notice that neither of them were actually searching for anything at all.  

“Shit, I’m starving. Haven’t had a bite to eat all day.” It was at least the tenth time Sullivan had mentioned  how hungry he was. Mickey’s belly was grumbling just at the thought of food, but he kept his mouth shut hoping to get out of that warehouse sooner than later. 

“Feel like I’m gonna pass out if I don’t eat something.”  Sullivan said. He was getting more obnoxious every time he opened his mouth, leading Mickey to fantasize about a heavy metal shelf falling and crushing him to death.

“I could really go for a burg-“

“Jesus, fucking Mary, and Joseph, Sullivan! Shut the fuck up already, would you!” That was the last straw.  If Mickey had to hear another single word from this man, he was going to end up killing him with his bare hands.

“Hey asshole, I didn’t get breakfast or lunch today because of that stunt you pulled the other day… and now we’re fucking stuck out here, and I’m missing dinner…”

“I didn’t pull a fucking stunt!” Mickey growled.  “I told you the boxes were on the desk when I left and they were gone when I came back the next morning.”

“Whatever you say, Milkovich.  Regardless of who moved or fucking _misplaced_ the boxes, they’re gone now aren’t they.  So I’m stuck in here all night with your ass looking for a goddamn needle in a haystack, and who knows if they even brought the boxes back here anyway.  So just get off my ass if I say I’m hungry once or twice.”

It had been more like fifty times, Mickey thought to himself. 

“Why don’t you just go to the fucking diner and get something to eat then?  I can handle a couple million dusty boxes by myself for a while.”

“Nah… Don’t wanna leave you alo…”

“For god’s sake, it’s not like I can lose the fuckers a second time.  Besides, we gotta find them first before I can fuck it up again, right? GO! Please go. Here, take my car.”  Mickey threw the keys in his direction and pointed toward the front warehouse doors.  “Bring me back a burger and a coffee. Extra sugar.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure.  Just … leave, please. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Sullivan reached down to grab the car keys Mickey had thrown, and headed for the door.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ mother, asshole.”  Mickey flipped Sullivan off as he walked away from the box fort they had built up around them.

Peace and quiet had never sounded so good as the moment Mickey heard the heavy steel warehouse door slam shut when Sullivan left.  Mickey jumped up onto a stack of boxes nearby, leaning his head back against the metal shelves, and closing his eyes to relax for just a minute. There was no way they were getting home before sun up at the rate they were moving, and it make no sense why Caffrey had only sent the two of them out for such a big job. 

Ok, it made a little sense - Caffrey was probably still pissed, specifically at Mickey.  The boxes that had gone missing contained the financial documents for several companies known to be owned or operated by the Chicago Outfit. Names like Spilotro, and Ricca, and Accardo were tied to those files.  And there were other names too, less known but still highly dangerous with ties to the Family, like Marcello… and Milkovich.  It was no coincidence that the accounting files for the Milkovich Crew – the crew run by Mickey’s own father - just happened to disappear off of his desk.  No one in the department was coming right out and saying it his fault, but they didn’t have to – he could see it in their faces every time he walked in the room.

His mind wandered off as he tried to relax. It was fucking unfair to spend an entire Friday night in this shitty warehouse with that asshole Sullivan on his first night off in weeks.  After all, he hadn’t been the one to misplace the boxes. Mickey swung one of his legs out hard, kicking a stack of boxes in front of him.  He should be out right now, piss drunk and getting his fucking gears cleaned by the blonde guy he met at the bar last weekend. Instead he was here, in this shitty, overheated three-story warehouse with a thousand years’ worth of forgotten accounting files.  And for what - any single clue that would help them finger the new Capo dei capi Nitti, or at the very least start them down any path leading to an indictment.  

That’s how this game worked now – if you couldn’t finger them for murders and mayhem, then get them for tax evasion.  After all, it had worked with Capone, and if it was good enough for Capone, then it was good enough for the rest of the Outfit.  Lord only knew the Feds weren’t getting any closer by chasing false leads and ghosts these past few months.  Since Capone went down, the street crews and Capos were wary of every fucking anomaly in the Outfit.  It was almost impossible to get close to anyone, even with Mickey’s connections.

Sullivan hadn’t been gone five minutes when Mickey heard the warehouse door open and close again, but he didn’t bother to move or open his eyes from where he sat as the sound of footsteps approached.

“You forget your wallet or som-” He heard the safety on the gun clicking off and immediately stopped speaking.  Mickey slowly sat straight up, opening his eyes to the sight of a black steel barrel pointed just inches from his face.  Hank “The Hammer” was standing at the other end of the steel, a wicked smile on his face.

“How’s it goin’, Mick?  Terry sent me. Said to tell you hello.” 

There was a solid thud, a sharp pain on the side of Mickey’s head, then the sound of boxes falling around him as his body hit the cement floor. The room went black.  For a second, before he passed out he felt a boot kick him, several times, cracking several of his ribs. As he drifted out of consciousness, he swore he heard his father’s voice somewhere above him just as it had more than a dozen years ago, “gonna teach you today boy, you fuckin’ pole smokin faggot.”

 


	3. The Crew

The kitchen door swung open, slamming into the back wall hard enough to rattle the glass, startling the four men sitting at the table. Muzichuk, or Muse as everyone called him, fumbled with the cards he was holding, dropping a six of spades and a ten of diamonds on to the table into everyone's view.

“Fucking hell, Iggy! The fuck is wrong with you?” Muse threw the rest of his cards face up onto the table exposing his losing hand. “New fucking deal.”

“No new fucking deal! Just because you don’t have shit doesn’t mean you get a new fuckin’ deal.”

Iggy ignored the men arguing at the table.  He scanned the room quickly before pushing past their chairs and heading down the hallway to the front of the house.

“Where the fuck is he?” He barked out at the men he’d just left behind in the kitchen.

“Who you lookin' for? Tony? He went out.” That was Tomenko, Tommy. Tommy was fourth in command in Terry’s crew, behind Iggy’s two older brothers Colin and Tony. It went without saying that when anyone spoke to Tommy they did their best to do so with a sense of self preservation and respect – two things which were clearly missing from Iggy’s current attitude.

“NO! Not fucking Tony. Terry – where the fuck is he?”

The four men at the table turned, raised their eyebrows at each other, then craned their necks around the corner of the kitchen door, staring after Iggy as he made his way down the hall. Tommy pushed impatiently away from the table, the legs of his chair screeching against the worn linoleum floor as it went.  He was just about fed up with Iggy's bullshit and lack of manners. He rounded the corner into the hallway keeping his eyes fixed on Iggy as Iggy went about checking the doors to each room along the way for any sign of his father.

“The fuck you need Terry for?” Tommy asked gruffly.

Iggy turned on him, eyes blazing and dangerous, “Don’t fuckin’ worry about it. Where’s my old man?”

Tommy could see Iggy was upset - upset enough to have forgotten who he was talking to at the moment, so he decided to let it slide for the moment. Milkovich or not, he normally wouldn't mind kicking Iggy's ass for stepping out of line in front of the other guys. That shit needed to be kept in check, but something had him riled up and Tommy needed to know what it was.

“He’s upstairs. But I wouldn’t bother him right now if I were you. He’s got the Russian in there with him.” That was Muse.

Muse couldn’t stand Iggy. He found him to be impulsive and dangerous because Iggy never seemed to know when to keep his big mouth shut. Muse constantly bitched and moaned to Tommy that Iggy was gonna get them both killed on a run some day.

Tommy turned an angry glare on Muse, the latter giving a shrug of his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and feigning innocence as if he didn’t realize that he too should learn when to keep his fucking mouth shut.

Iggy took the stairs two at a time with Tommy coming up right behind him.  The remaining three men came from the kitchen to stand at the bottom of the stairs where they could listen to the chaos that was sure to erupt any minute. If Iggy was about to die for being a dumbass, they all wanted front row seats to the show.

“TERRY!” Iggy shouted out as he approached the heavy wooden door that guarded Terry's den from the rest of the world. He began pounding on the door with his closed fist so hard that the sound of steel buried beneath the wood facade of the door began to reverberate with each hit. “Terry! Open the fucking door! I need to talk to you.”

There was a few seconds of cursing on the other side of the door as the locks gave way, then Terry pulled the door open with a start. His face was twisted with rage, not unlike the face he wore every day, and his revolver was cocked and pressed straight into Iggy’s forehead before the door was fully opened.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?”  Both Tommy and Iggy averted their eyes from Terry’s naked body. Svetlana, his favorite Russian whore was walking around the side of the bed wearing nothing more than a smirk on her face, but Iggy kept his eyes straight ahead on Terry’s chin, taking extra care not to look him straight in the eyes when he finally spoke.

“I just got some news.” He sounded like a meek child, now that he stood face to face with his father and his father’s gun.

“You fucking barged in here, pounding on my fucking door when Svet is here because you have _news_?” Terry pushed the barrel of his revolver hard into Iggy's head. Iggy kept his determined, unblinking gaze on Terry, knowing he had to fucking wait until he was given permission to speak again or take the chance of being pistol whipped within an inch of his life if he spoke to soon. It was a lesson he had learned more than once in his life, having felt the butt of Terry’s revolver against his head for the first time at just ten years old. “You better fucking hope it’s good, boy. Hurry the fuck up.”

Iggy struggled to find exactly the right words to begin, wondering if Terry had meant it better be "good news" or "worthwhile news." It definitely wasn't _good_ news.

“You know that cop, the one’s always getting in my face over at the Alibi? He arrested me last summer for being drunk in public?” Terry nodded his head impatiently and shook the hand holding the revolver around, pushing for Iggy to hurry the fuck up with his news,

“Well, I was out getting some food at the diner over on 68th - that one where they make the apple turnovers you like, with the scoop of ice cream, when that asshole cop and his partner come in laughing. I'm sitting there eating my pie and he comes over, pointing his finger in my face and saying shit like, ‘Your crew is crashing! Everyone's falling down! You’re next Milkovich!’”

Terry slowly dropped his hand and gun to his side, his anger morphing into impatience and little curiosity as Iggy took his sweet ass time getting to the point of his story. The Russian moved to sit at the edge of the bed behind Terry, not bothering to put a robe over her naked body. She lit a cigarette and watched the men at the door with a bored expression as she leaned back onto one arm, legs spread open. Tommy braved the circumstances, glancing up at her to get an eyeful, now that Terry’s gun no longer pointed at anyone’s head.

“So I says to the cop, ‘the fuck you going on about, asshole.’ and he says, ‘One Milkovich down, three more to go. You’ll all be gone by the end of the month, just like Capone.’”

Tommy looked back at Iggy curiously, but Terry’s expression remained unchanged, as if he had been expecting to hear this news. Iggy continued, “So I says, ‘Fuck you, Markovich, we ain’t going nowhere.’ And he says, ‘Well, your boy Colin just took his final ride tonight so we’ll see about that.’”

Terry’s eyes lit up at the mention of his oldest son. He knew Colin was out on a job tonight with another of his men, Hank the Hammer. Terry had personally asked Hammer to take care of some quick business for him - It was simple, cut and dry. Now that Terry thought of it, they should have been back hours ago. So, where the fuck were they?

“The fuck are you talking about?” Terry said. his voice low and lethal. Iggy took a small step back at the sound of it.  Terry’s looked back and forth between Iggy and Tommy waiting for someone to answer.

“I - I don’t know what the fuck he was talking about.” Iggy shrugged. “Just said Colin took his final ride tonight. Then they walked the fuck out of there laughing it up about the coroner's face when he saw Colin. That’s it. Then they were gone. They just drove away! I came straight over here but Colin’s car isn’t out there. So, what I wanna know is where the fuck is Colin tonight? And Tony too.”

Tommy answered first, “I told Tony to take the night off - spend some time with his girl. We've had him working all hours for weeks and he's getting fucking crazy with the guys. Colin and Hammer should be on their way back from a run in Wisconsin tonight. Tony usually handles that load, but with him out tonight, I thought the two of them could handle it. I expected them back a few hours ago. Figured they stopped somewhere for dinner.”

The gears in Terry's mind were turning. “I told Hammer to stop and take care of some business for me tonight.” Terry said quietly. “What time is it?"

Tommy checked his watch and announced it to be almost midnight. Even with the extra errand he'd sent them on, Terry knew they should have been back hours ago.

"Where the fuck is Hammer? Someone get on the fucking phone and find out where everyone is, RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” Terry barked.

He slammed his door shut, running directly into Svetlana as he turned back into the room. She had walked up behind him unexpectedly while Iggy was still delivering his news. In a mix of instinct and inherent rage, Terry swung his fist at her, landing a solid blow to her face and splitting her lip open. Svetlana fell to the floor, bleeding and dazed as Terry walked past, kicking her hard in the thigh as he went to step over her.

 _“Get the fuck out of my house!”_  She grabbed what belongings of hers she could reach and ran for the door.

Iggy and Tommy were halfway down the stairs when the Russian came running up behind them, still naked and now bleeding from her lip and nose. “He’s fucking crazy!” She yelled as she dropped one of her heels down the stairs, nearly tripping over the long red dress she was trailing along.

“No fucking joke, bitch. You fuck him enough, you should already know that.” Iggy laughed, stepping aside to let her get by.

“Donny, take Svet home. John you go with him. Muse, you get on the phone and find out what you can about anybody they took into the morgue tonight. Better yet, just grab one of the boys outside and get your ass down there to check for yourself. We need eyes on everything tonight. _No one drives alone_ , you hear me? No one! Iggy, go in the fucking kitchen and sit your ass down until I call you.”

Iggy was ready to protest, but the look on Tommy’s face clearly said he’d had enough of Iggy’s bullshit for the night. He stomped down the hall to the kitchen and pulled open the icebox for a cold beer, then threw himself into one of the abandoned seats at the table. The money and cards from the poker game still sat in the middle of the table as the four men each went off in different directions, following the orders Tommy was barking at them. Everyone froze in place for a second, looking toward the stairway as the heavy door of Terry’s den slammed into the wall and they heard his steps coming their way.

“Move your asses! I want you to find Hammer and Colin and get them back here, NOW!” Tommy yelled, bringing everyone’s attention back to the urgency of the moment.


	4. Sins of Our Father

 

Iggy sat on the bench outside the back door, listening to Terry and Tommy’s muffled voices coming from just beyond the kitchen.  He leaned against the open door frame trying to catch what they were saying. The beer he’d opened earlier was left with the cards and cash on the kitchen table when Terry had come storming into the kitchen yelling for Iggy to get the fuck so he could to talk to Tommy alone.

The house had 15 different rooms – why the fuck they couldn’t use another room to talk in was beyond Iggy, but when Terry said move your ass out, no one ever dared ask questions. They just moved and hoped he doesn’t kick you as you left. Iggy covered one ear, trying to block out the cricket in the yard, willing them to shut the hell up so that he could make out what they two men were talking about.

“…. the fuck were you thinking!?” Tommy yelled.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like… nothing but a fucking fa… shoulda killed … want him dead... the hell is Hamm… _FIND HIM!_ “

The phone ring from deep inside the house. Iggy took a step into the kitchen when he heard Terry walk toward the front study to take the call.  A minute later, the phone smash against a wall, making Iggy jump and consider going back outside. Before he had a chance to move, Tommy came walking quickly through the kitchen. He passed Iggy without so much as a glance in his direction.

“Iggy! Let’s go - Get in the car. We need to take care of some shit. You’re driving.”

Iggy followed behind to his car, checking behind the seat for his rifle, then reaching under the seat to feel the cold steel of his revolver.

“Move your ass, Iggy. Don’t have all night.”

“Someone gonna explain what the fuck is going on to me?” Iggy slammed his door shut and started the engine, the tires squealing as they pulled away from the house on the long gravel driveway.

They drove ten minutes, Tommy pointing out directions and turns, hardly saying a word. Iggy was getting more and more impatient as he followed directions not knowing their destination. They seemed to be heading in the direction of the lake, but Tommy still hadn’t given him any new information since they had left the house. All the silence was more than Iggy could take, and he knew he wasn't going to get any answers unless he pushed further. He also knew that if he pissed off Tommy, Tommy would have no problem putting a bullet in his fucking head without Terry blinking twice over it. Iggy might be a Milkovich, but he wasn't in charge of shit the way his two older brothers were. No one would blink twice if he came up missing.

Still, he had to know what was going on. He slammed the brakes on the car, pulling off to the side of the dark road, and turning the headlights off before turning to look at Tommy.

“What the fuck, Iggy!”

“I’ll fucking drive you where ever you need to go as soon as you tell me what the fuck is going on? How can I watch your back if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be watching for?”

Tommy stared at Iggy in the dark of the car. Iggy’s chest was rising and falling as he took deep nervous breaths and waited for a the whiplash to come, but Tommy knew he was right. If things had gone down the way Terry suspected they may have, there was a good chance that their entire crew now had targets on their backs. And not just the five men who were at the house tonight – the Milkovich crew was over 100 men deep, and spread out in three different states. It took Terry, Colin, Tony, and Tommy every ounce of energy to keep that shit running smoothly, so if even one of those assholes decided to go rogue, there’s no telling who else would follow.

Iggy wasn’t a threat – Tommy knew that for sure. He was a Milkovich, after all. And while everyone knew Iggy would never amount to anything more on the crew than running guns and taking care of collections, he was still Terry's son, and it was Terry Milkovich’s fucking crew. There was no way one of his own sons would ever turn on him.

Well – none of them except –

“Muse called the house just before we left. Cops found Colin’s body at the docks, shot up. Looked like he mighta got a few shots of his own off as well before he went down. But Hammer’s still missing. So is his car.”

Iggy sat wide eyed and silent, waiting for more. That was enough, actually. His brother had been shot dead and his partner had gone missing, but still, Iggy wanted – no, needed – to hear it all.

“What were they doing at the docks? I thought you said they were on their way back from Wisconsin? Why the fuck were they at the docks?”

Tommy’s turned his gaze out the front of the car, staring at the empty road in front of them, his head doing that slow nod he did when he was thinking of the right words to use. He knew there was no way to deliver the next bit of information without taking the chance of Iggy losing his shit right here and now.

“Colin and Hammer went to pick up this week’s take in Wisconsin. They probably had about ten grand on them.” He hesitated. “That’s a hell of a lot of money – Tony and his boys usually takes care of that run but... Terry’s thinks maybe Hammer went rogue – killed Colin and took off with the cash.  Or…”

Tommy didn’t continue. Iggy was dumbfounded as to what “or” could mean. “OR WHAT, Tommy!?”

There was no easy way to say what came next, so he said it as quickly as he could. “Terry sent Hammer after Mickey tonight.”

“The fuck-” Iggy’s barely whispered.

“All this shit with Capone going down, things are hot. You know the only reason Terry hasn’t gone after Mickey all these years is out of respect for you and your brothers. But the Feds are getting closer every day.” His eyes fell back on Iggy with a No Bullshit stare. “Mickey was working with the team that pinned Capone. No doubt he’ll be coming for Terry at some point soon. You know he fucking hates him." Tommy hadn't clearly stated which of the two men hated the other, but it was well known among the Family that it went both ways with Terry and Mickey. "Terry sent Hammer to get rid of him tonight - take him for a swim in the lake.”

Iggy’s eyes fell. His heart and mind were screaming inside of him. Terry had put a hit out on one of his own sons.

“Muse is out trying to find out where Hammer is right now. And Mickey ..." Tommy’s voice trailed off for just a moment before he cleared his throat and looked out the window again. "Fuck. I don't know, Ig. Maybe at the bottom of the fuckin’ lake for all we know.”

Tommy was quiet for a minute as he looked into Iggy's face hoping to drive his next statement home. Iggy could see this was difficult for him as well, after all, Tommy had grown up in the Family with Mickey at his side for nearly 17 years. He was as much a lost brother to Tommy as he was to Iggy, Colin, and Tony. “Iggy. I was just as shocked to hear about this tonight as you are right now. You gotta know I’d never put that hit on Mickey.”

Iggy wouldn’t look at him. At that very moment, he didn’t know anything of the sort for certain. Everyone just did what Terry told them to do, especially Tommy, but he’d never imagined in a million years that Terry would go after one of his own sons.

“But listen. What’s done is done. I’m just gonna lay it out straight for you, so you can get your fucking head back in the game. Mickey’s dead. Hammer took care of that already, I’m sure of it. He’d never back out on a job from Terry. Maybe that’s what got between him and Colin, I don’t know. Either way, Colin’s dead now too, and Hammer is still out there someplace with Terry's money and he wants it back. You need to drive this fucking car, Iggy. Pull your shit together. We need to find out where he is before this shit gets out of hand.”

Iggy slammed the car into first gear and reared back onto the road, no longer needing directions from Tommy as they headed to the loading docks at the south end of the lake. His heart was squeezed tight inside of his chest as he struggled to take each breath and stay calm. There were a million questions still unanswered, and no one knew the answers yet to give him.

Where the fuck was Hammer? Had he killed Colin? Did Colin know about the hit on Mickey? If Hammer turned on Colin of his own will, was an all-out war about to start? And what happened to Mickey?

Iggy’s head kept coming back to that last question. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of his youngest brother floating at the bottom of the lake, but that’s what all evidence seemed to point to. He squeezed his eyes shut as he drove, feeling like a pussy as he blinked back the sting of tears that threatened to fall. It was fucking stupid - that was the reason everyone thought he was fucking soft and worthless, and now the threat of tears was starting to piss him off! He was a fucking Milkovich, for god's sake! His father was one of the meanest motherfuckers in Chicago, and that was supposed to mean something, right? And yet, the idea of losing his brothers, both of them, was ripping through him and tearing him down.

The more he pushed back the tears, the angrier he got. It didn't even make any sense - He barely fucking knew Mickey anymore and yet here he was grieving the idea of losing him. Mickey had been taken from their house when he and Iggy were just teenagers, more than 10 years ago. It all happened so suddenly, a few days after Terry had beaten Mickey nearly to death. No one had ever figured out what had triggered the beating. All they knew was that the cops showed up at the hospital with Mickey and Mandy's maternal grandfather, and the two of them never came back to the house after that.

They still lived on the South Side, and they still ran across the three older Milkovich boys from time to time, but there was some unspoken rule that now hung over everyone: Mickey and Mandy were no longer part of The Family and all communication stopped when they left. Since that time, Iggy had seen him less than two dozen times - usually out on the streets, and without much more than a nod of acknowledgement to one another. They had been close once. They had been each other's best friend, and Iggy wanted to believe they'd always have some connection between them - something that told the other if circumstances were different they could drop all the bullshit between them and still be ok. Still be brothers.

As he drove closer to the lake, he tried to remember the last time he'd seen either of his younger siblings, and was shocked to realize it had been nearly 3 years. He'd run into them downtown when Mickey had been seeing Mandy off at the train station just about a week before Christmas. She had already taken her seat near a window when Iggy literally walked straight into Mickey who was standing on the platform to see her off. Iggy hadn’t been paying attention to the people milling about and nearly knocked Mickey over.

Mickey had pushed him back forcefully, began to yell at the asshole to watch where he was going, then suddenly realized it was Iggy. They briefly held each other’s eyes, said their awkward and quiet hellos to one another before Mickey looked away from his older brother. Iggy followed Mickey’s eyes up to the train window where the youngest Milkovich siblings was looking back at him. He gave a small wave in Mandy's direction which she didn't return. She watched them both, a look of dread or maybe fear hanging from her face as her two estranged brothers stood nearly side by side. Iggy understood then that the trust he wished existed between the three of them really never would. They were strangers to each other - silent enemies, due to nothing they had chosen for themselves, but rather the sins of their father.

The train pulled away and Mandy's worried eyes stayed glued to Mickey's until she was no longer visible. That was the last time Iggy had seen her.  Then, with a brief glance in Iggy's direction and quick nod of his head before he walked away, Mickey left without another word.  That was also the last time Iggy had seen his youngest brother. Iggy’s heart ached a little as they both disappeared as suddenly as they had been there.  It had all been such a cold, civil exchange.  No ‘Merry Christmas.’  No handshake or pat on the back.  Not even so much as a smile.  And from that day on, Iggy had regretted not doing any of it. They may have grown up into two different worlds, but they were still brothers, and Iggy could never deny that he had spent years wishing things had been different between them.

Iggy watched his baby brother walk away from him though the crowd, without so much as a glance back. He had been dressed up, all official looking in his black suit and wool overcoat. Iggy couldn't think of a time in his life he himself had ever even owned a suit or worn an overcoat like the one Mickey was sporting. He couldn’t help but wonder how the fuck they had gotten themselves there: One of them a 3rd ranked mobster living under the oppressive thumb of his abusive father – the other a Federal Agent working to put him and his entire crew behind bars.

As the car approached the Calumet industrial park, Tommy pointed toward the flashing lights of a police car that was still on scene right near the area where the current ran deep. Iggy drove past without stopping, then turned to Tommy for his next direction. It seemed Mickey’s chance at reckoning with his father would never come. He was dead. Colin was dead. And it was up to Iggy and Tommy to figure out where the fuck Hammer had gone off to next, and what hell would surely follow.


	5. Love Is Love Is Love Is Love

He raised his arm up, straight in front of him, aiming for the small round blue eyes that drooped down toward the ground.  No matter how many times he’d leaned the head up against the pole, it would just fall hopelessly toward the ground again. 

“Fuck it!”  He pulled the trigger and watched one of the blue eyes explode as the head it was attached to flew back to lean against the pole – finally.

“FUCKING HELL!  I can’t believe you made that shot!”

“What can I say, I shoot better when I’m fucking drunk.”  He lifted the gun again, taking 3 quick shots with the remaining bullets of his gun, each of them ripping through the head and body, spraying hay in every direction.

“You owe me five bucks.” Lip said as he loaded his revolver again. He laughed and ran his hand through his curly brown hair, pushing the sweat off his head.  It was already the last weekend of September and still hot as mid-summer even this high up in the Rockies.

“Yeah, whatever.  Take it out of the money you owe me for that stunt you pulled last spring.” Ian reached into his bag for some shells, putting a handful into his pocket.

“That wasn’t my fault.  I can’t keep Mother Nature from kicking my ass when she wants to.  She’s a fucking bitch sometimes.”

“What the fuck ever, Lip.  You shouldn’t have been driving in your condition, and you know it.  You’re lucky you’re alive.  Which is more than I can say for my truck.” 

Lip and Ian Gallagher – the oldest of the Gallagher boys were supposed to be out tearing down a beaver dam on the river, but instead had gathered up their guns and rifles and headed out into the cornfields to shoot the scarecrows that had done a shitty job of keeping critters out of the fields all summer long.  The Gallaghers had spent half the summer building fences and chasing animals out that stole their crops.  The scarecrows sucked at their job, and for that they deserved to die.

“Fiona’s gonna kick our asses if she finds out we murdered these scarecrows.” Ian said as he ran out into the field to set up the next scarecrow. 

He ripped the one his brother Lip had just blasted to smithereens from the post and tossing it to the ground.  There was nothing left of its face except one giant round blue button eye staring up at him.  After the second dummy was tied in place he went back to join his brother, gathering up his rifles and began walking further from the dummy.

“Yeah, well she loves doing all that crafty shit with the tourists, so we’ll just tell her they needed to be replaced anyway.”  Lip grabbed his guns and hunting bag off the ground and followed after his brother.

“Fuck Ian, how far do you think you can shoot?” Lip asked, doubting his brother’s ability to hit the scarecrow from the new distance.  He knew Ian was a good shot, but this was farther than he’d seen him shoot before.

“I got this.” Ian said confidently.  He glanced back to see how far they had gone, then kept walking.  Lip looked at him and rolled his eyes.  Ian was nothing if not over confident to the point of being arrogant on most days.  It was a Gallagher trait. One of many they both shared.  While Lip was shorter, with light brown curly hair and blue eyes, Ian stood almost six feet tall with bright red hair and green eyes. Their physical appearance was almost where the differences ended.  They were both smart in their own ways, stubborn as hell, innovative, and adventurous. Family traits of all the Gallagher children.  They were also survivors in a hard world during hard times, but had found a way to make things work, not only for themselves but also for the entire community in which they lived.

Ian took another look back at the scarecrow then continued walking, taking a sip of water from his flask.  He offered it to Lip, “Water?”

“No way, man.  You tryin’ to kill my high?”  Lip opened his own flask and took a sip of whiskey. “There’s no fuckin’ way you’re making this shot.” Lip said.  He turned to look from their new vantage point as Ian finally came to a stop.  The dummy hanging on the post was now almost two football fields away. Ian began loading his rifles, laying each at his feet, as he took peeks up at the dummy across the field.  

He could make the shot.  He knew he could make that fucking shot, he’d been doing it all summer long when he’d been out here watching fucking corn grow.

“Watch this.”  He raised the butt of his rifle, resting it against his shoulder as he found the target down the barrel.  He rested his finger on the trigger, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  He closed his eyes and felt the breeze on the side of his neck, then opened them again and adjusted his aim. His finger squeezed slightly as he stared down his target, then **_BAM!_**

“FUCK!”

“Haaahahahahaa!!  I told you you couldn’t fucking hit that!” Lip laughed, taking a nip of the flask he was holding.

“Shut up.”  He cocked his rifle and set up for another shot, this time putting less thought and effort into the shot, and going off instinct alone.  The butt of the gun slammed into his shoulder as he pulled the trigger, and hay flew in every direction as the bullet found its target!  BULLSEYE!

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you hit that! Holy shit!”  Lip was jumping up and down, shaking Ian at the shoulder as Ian smiled proudly and started reloading his rifle.

“What are you losers doing?”  Their youngest brother Carl walked up with his own rifle slung over his back.  “Fiona said you were out here taking down the beaver dam.  That doesn’t look like a beaver dam to me.”  Lip handed him a pair of binoculars and pointed down the field.  Carl looked out at the scarecrow with a giant hole blown where the head once was.  “Shit, Ian. Did you actually hit that?” 

“Yeah! You wanna try?” Ian asked, suddenly noticing Carl had a rifle slipped over his right shoulder along with a gray canvas hiking pack. “Hey, if you thought you were coming out here to take a beaver dam down, why’d you bring your rifle?”

Carl shrugged, “Thought I’d do some beaver target practice while we were at it.  Brought a stick of dynamite too in case you actually were taking down the dam.”

“You were planning on shooting beavers with a fucking _rifle_?  You’ll just blow it to shit.”  Lip laughed, before both he and Ian realized what Carl had said about the dynamite.

Ian stepped forward putting his hand on Carl’s chest to stop him where he stood.  “Hand over the dynamite.”  He put his hand out and waited.

“What the fuck, Ian. No, get your own!” Carl took a step back, but Ian grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in again, his eyes pointedly on the bag then back on Carl.

“No asshole. Give it to me. You aren’t even supposed to be touching that shit.  Hand it over before you fucking kill all of us.” Carl sighed heavily pulling the canvas bag from his shoulder carefully.  He pulled out a half stick of dynamite and handed it to Ian, rolling his eyes as Ian smacked him across the back of his head. 

“Don’t fucking touch the dynamite, Carl.”

Ian wrapped the dynamite in a rag from his bag, and went to set it under a tree about 100 feet away where they would be safe enough if it decided to self-combust for some damn reason. They spent the rest of the afternoon shooting and drinking, never once going near the river to check on the beaver dam that had been fucking up their fly fishing tours all summer long.  Fishing tours were over for the most part now, so it wouldn’t matter if they got the dam down today or next week. As long as it came down before the winter snow got too heavy.

***

“Hi there, go get washed up for dinner.  Were you guys able to get the dam dismantled?” Fiona was pulling hot biscuits from the oven and adding them to a basket before wrapping them in a cotton handkerchief to keep them warm.

“Uh, not exactly.” Lip said as he took the stairs up two at a time, avoiding any more questions.

Fiona eyed Ian and Carl suspiciously, “What does that mean, ‘not exactly?’”  They both shrugged as they followed Lip up the stairs.  “What the fuck does ‘not exactly’ mean?” she yelled after all three of them before shaking her head and turning back setting the table for dinner.  

“Assholes probably spent the whole day getting drunk, WHILE I WORKED ALL FUCKING DAY!”  She yelled that last part up the stairwell, knowing they could hear her.  A muffled, “Sorry Fi” came back to her three times followed by laughter. 

She wanted to be mad at them, but it had been a long, hard summer for all of them, and she knew they needed a day to relax and blow off some steam just as much as she did. Gallway Falls was a mountain summer tourist trap, deep in the heart of the Rocky Mountains that catered outdoor adventures to the rich and nearly famous, as well as family camping and mountaineering for the Colorado locals.  It took every single person in the town to run the tours smoothly, with the bulk of the work falling directly on the shoulders of each of the Gallagher siblings.  And why shouldn’t it – they owned the entire town, or at least the buildings of the businesses that were housed here, so they did the bulk of the work. 

Now with the summer season coming to a close, they could all take a minute to breathe a little easier as business slowed down for a while before Winter Season began.  There would still be plenty of work in the months ahead, but it was a different kind of work.  It would be slower, and easier for all of them to have a chance to catch their breaths.

The front door opened and Fiona smiled as she heard her best friend walk in with her husband following behind. 

“Hey Fi!  We’re here for dinner.  I’m too damn lazy to cook another meal today, and Kev threatened to divorce me if he had to eat another cold pastrami sandwich, so you’re feeding us.”

“A man can’t live off sandwiches alone, Vee.  I’m just sayin’ every now and then I need a nice juicy piece of rump roast.”  He said this as he smacked her ass and took a seat the table. 

Vee went about setting two more places at the table without giving a second thought to whether Fiona was ok with the extra mouths to feed or not.  They all knew she was – that’s how it worked in the Gallagher house.  Vee and Kevin were family.  They came and went in the house just as anyone else did, and they shared meals with the Gallaghers just as often as any of the siblings did. 

The three boys came stomping down the stairs fifteen minutes later, semi clean, save for the dirty jeans and shirts they were still wearing.  There was no point in changing them at this time of day; there was still work to be done.

“So how’s Debbie liking the new school?” Vee asked.

Debbie was the youngest Gallagher daughter, now a living in Denver where she attended the Colorado’s Women’s College.  She had insisted she didn’t need an education to teach ten-year old’s how to build a campfire or not get eaten by a bear, but Lip and Fiona had insisted she get a degree.  Their family needed an accountant they could trust, and Debbie had always been good with numbers. 

“She’s good now that she’s finally settled in.  Complained about it for a month before she left, but I guess she’s making some friends now.” 

Fiona and Lip had both attended college, Fiona getting a degree in business, Lip in engineering at the University of Colorado which had come in handy for the other businesses the Gallagher’s ran up in the old coal mining caves… and it had fuck all to do with coal.

“I’m headed down there sometime in the next week for supplies,” Ian offered, “In case you want to send anything to her.  I can drop it off.”

Everyone at the table looked at Ian, Fiona trying to hide a smirk on her face as Lip rolled his eyes and let out a little huff.

“What?  You know we need to get this stuff before the it snows. Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Ian asked innocently.

“We all know why you’re going to Denver.” Lip said, stuffing a warm biscuit in his mouth as he continued, “Why the hell do you keep hooking up with that guy, Ian?  He’s a piece of shit and we all know it – why can’t you see it?”

Everyone nodded their heads and moaned out agreement as they continued to eat. 

“Seriously, you’re all gonna just sit here nodding like assholes.  You don’t even know him – you met him one time.”

“Once was enough for me,” Kev said, followed by the rest “yep” “me too” “he’s an asshole” “ _fucking_ asshole”

“Jesus, don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”  Ian shook his head. 

They wouldn’t understand – they couldn’t understand.  It wasn’t that Ian was in love with the guy – Trevor -but it wasn’t like there were many option for Ian in Gallway Falls either, so when Trevor had come up for a camping trip last spring they had just sort of hit it off.  Was he the perfect guy?  Probably not.  Was he fun?  Not exactly – he was actually a little too serious for Ian most of the time, and a whiny ass little bitch (Vee’s words) a lot of the time, but they didn’t see each other that often so Ian tried not to let any of that get to him. 

Now that he thought about it, Trevor really was an asshole, but he was definitely convenient.  He lived far enough away that he didn’t disrupt Ian’s daily life, and close enough for Ian to take a trip into the city if he wanted to see him.

Could Ian fall in love with him?  He thought about this as he asked Fiona to pass the plate of potatoes – the answer to that question was probably No. He didn’t even sort of love Trevor.  He really was at the point where he was just tolerating him for sex.  Ian dumped a spoonful of seasoned potatoes onto his plate as he looked back up at his family and finally admitted, “Ok, I get it.  He’s not great, but tell me what fucking options there are here in Gallway?”

No one said a word as they continued to eat.

“Oh, yeah!  There it is. None of you get it, but…”

“But nothing,” Vee cut in, holding her hand up to stop whatever it was he was about to say.  

She understood.  She was a black woman married to a white man, living out her life in Gallway Falls because it was the only place they had ever found that didn’t look at the color of their skin and judge them.  The people in Gallway knew that love is love is love is love, regardless of who you chose to love.  But in Ian’s case, love was a little more complicated, and a lot more difficult to come by. 

Everyone had come to terms with Ian’s sexuality by the time he was about 14 years old – Fiona was the first to notice back then.  It was his blatant lack of interest in the girls who came to town during the summer months that clued her in, but it was his deep interest he took in watching the boys that told her everything she needed to know.  She wasn’t immediately sure how to deal with it, but she was sure of one thing – Gallway Falls was her fucking town, and if her brother wanted to love a boy, by god she wasn’t going to stand in the way of that.  It was hard enough in the world to just find anyone at all to love instead of hate. 

She sat him down one morning to ask him about it, and while he shied away from the conversation at first, nervous and scared of what she might think, Fiona was there in every possible way to remind him that it would never matter to her who he fell in love with.  It only mattered _that_ he found love.  She assured him that as long as there was a breath in her body no one in that town would fuck with him if he decided he liked boys and not girls. 

Lip had joined their conversation, sitting quietly.  He didn’t have anything to offer in way of conversation, but he nodded his head in agreement with everything Fiona said. When they were done, Lip stood up and patted Ian’s back as he left the room, with a simple, “Love who you want, Ian.” 

Ian blushed, responding quietly to only Fiona, “Well, right now I just sort of _like._ Don’t marry me off yet.”

With Ian’s blessing, Fiona called a family dinner shortly after their talk, which consisted not only of the Gallaghers but their closest friends and allies in town – more than 30 people.  They set tables up out in the yard and had a pig roasting all day in the large fire pit.  Everyone was enjoying the summer night when Fiona stopped by Ian’s chair and whispered something in his ear.  His eyes grew wide as he shook his head, but Fiona reassured him with a smile.  He knew eventually the truth would come out, and Fiona had assured him that now was the time. 

At last he nodded and she stood to call for everyone’s.  All eyes were on her when she announced without any hesitation in her voice at all, “I want everyone here to know that Ian is gay.” 

Ian’s face had turned a bright red visible even in the light of the fire, as eyes turned to him.  Just hearing the words out loud felt like a brick to his head, and he expected everyone to judge him.  But as he looked around the table timidly, the faces looking back at him were knowing, smiling, friendly faces. 

Fiona continued, “As everyone at this table knows, in Gallway we love before we hate.  We accept before we banish.  We trust with our hearts and think with our heads, but at the end of the day, do our best to be our best.  We take care of one another, and have each other’s back.”  She looked at each person around the table carefully, reading their expressions and watching for anyone who may not be in the frame of mind to accept the news she’d just delivered.

“Many of you are here because you couldn’t find a place to call home anywhere else. Some of you came here because you couldn’t feed your families or survive out _there._  There was no judgment here when you arrived.  We didn’t ask you to explain your sins or your heartaches.  We took you in and gave you our support and our love so that you and your families could not only survive here, but thrive – with us. We welcomed you, and in time we all came to appreciate and love one another. Because Love Is Love, no matter what.”

Everyone nodded as Fiona raised a glass without looking at her baby brother, “If anyone has a fucking problem with what I’ve said, you can pack your shit and leave this town tonight.”  No one moved.  “Ok then.  Let’s fucking toast – To LOVE!”  She exclaimed.  “Love is love…”

“is love…”

“is love…”

“is love…”

The toast “is love…” continued its way around the crowd as everyone took a drink, eyes no longer looking on Ian. He’d heard this toast before a thousand times around the table as well as at Sunday worship.  He’d taken part in this toast before – but had never expected it to be in his favor.  He smiled happily, raising his glass to his lips, and giving Fiona a grateful look as he sipped.  She smiled back warmly and winked at him.

Now he sat with the same family around his dinner table, wishing they would remember that for him, love was harder.

“I get it Ian,” Vee continued.  “I do.  So, I’ll just say this.  I think Trevor is a piece of shit and I hope you find that to be true too, but if you don’t… if you decided you’re keeping him, then I’ll drink to that too.”  She raised her glass of milk, “Love is love…”

“is love…”

“is love…”

“is love…”


	6. It's Hammer Time

It was all a blur.  From the moment the gun hit his head until the moment he drove off in his brother’s car, it was a blur of pain, blood, and confusion. 

Mickey moaned as he tried to will his eyes open a sliver. He could hear water lapping against the pier, occasionally feeling droplets splash onto his skin. He peeked his eyes open, but couldn’t tell if it was the last light of daylight that left the sky blood red or if he had actual blood in his eyes.  It took a few seconds before he remembered what had happened, and why he felt more than saw someone wrapping something around his feet.  He lifted his head off the pavement and tried to focus on the man tying a rope around his ankles. 

Hammer.  It all came back to him in a flood of panic when he felt the rope pull tight. He pulled himself away on his elbows, but Hammer was on him again fast.  Before Mickey could fight back, Hammer’s fist connected with his cheek.  Mickey was sure he felt something crack as his head slammed into the ground below him.  Hammer hit him again as he cursed at Mickey, filling his head with both pain and the words his father had screamed at him for so many years:

 _Fucking faggot!  Worthless piece of shit!  Little bitch! Useless fucking snitch!_ If it had been Terry’s intention to send this hateful message one last time, Hammer was doing a brilliant job of delivering it. But none of it was new – Mickey had been living with his father’s voice and these words in his head for more than 12 years.

Another punch to his head, and Mickey was positive now that the red sky was an illusion from the blood that must be dripping down his face. He struggled to move, but his legs were tied, and Hammer had his upper body pinned tight.  The best Mickey could hope for at this point was to be completely unconscious when his body finally hit the water.

Just as he came to terms with the idea of that, things took and unexpected turn. He heard, more than saw, Hammer grunt as his body went flying backwards.  There was a scuffle – no it was definitely an all out blow for blow fight just beyond Mickey’s vision.  While every ounce of life left in him was grateful for his unknown hero, a tiny, illogical part of his brain hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t Sullivan who had come to save the day.  That would almost be worse than taking an eternal nap at the bottom of lake Michigan!  Almost.

All his energy spent, and pain coursing through every inch of his body, Mickey closed his eyes and hoped the right guy won the fight going on a few feet away.  There was nothing more he could do at this point anyway.  At last, there was silence.  He considered opening his eyes to see who was left standing, but he really did not want to see Hammer coming for him again. 

“Mickey wake up!  Wake the fuck up, Mickey!  Come on.”  That wasn’t Sullivan talking.  Mickey felt a hand reach under to cradle his head, then another gently smack his cheek. “Jesus Christ, Mick.  Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy, open your eyes.” 

His eyebrows raised up high onto his forehead as he tried to get his eyelids to follow. 

“Atta boy.  Come on, Mickey –“

“Colin?”  Mickey’s eyes were barely cracked, but even in the darkening sky, he could just make out his brother’s face above him.  “The fuck are you-“

“Stop asking stupid fucking question.”  Colin pulled Mickey up from under each arm.  “Come on, I need you to sit up.” 

He began to untie the rope from Mickey’s feet.  For the first time, Mickey noticed the two large sandbags sitting next to him, tied to the other end of the rope. He looked around the pier and saw Hammer about fifteen feet away knocked out cold. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mick.  What are you even doing out here?” Colin asked.

“I uh…” what was he doing there?  He racked his brain trying to remember why he was at the pier, and then it came to him, “Sullivan.  I’m here with my partner.”

Colin sat up straight and looked around nervously, then back to Mickey.

“Ah fuck, where is he? Last thing I need is to run into that asshole.  I swear to god, I’ll end up putting a bullet through his fucking head if he doesn’t get me first.”

Mickey shook his head, “Nah, it’s ok – he left. Went to grab food a while ago.”

“Wait a minute – was he the guy I seen driving your car earlier?” Colin asked. He was slowly beginning to piece it all together now.

For the past hour, driving back from Wisconsin, Hammer had checked his watch about every five minutes.  The minute they hit the Chicago, he had begun telling Colin he had another job to take care of for Terry.  This had been news to Colin. With ten grand in the trunk, the last thing they needed was to be stopping anyplace to take care of some piddly ass job, but Hammer had insisted on it saying it would only take about twenty minutes.

Colin had tried to coax Hammer into going to a diner first – eat first, then both of them could take care of the job for Terry.  Hammer wasn’t having it.  He reminded Colin that what Terry said goes, and this was a job he had to take care of himself.  He told Colin to go find food for both of them and come back to get him in a half hour.

Colin dropped Hammer at the warehouses, happy to take a break from Hammer’s endless yammering – the guy never shut the fuck up – and that was when he’d seen Mickey’s black Ford drive by. Only it hadn’t looked like Mickey in the driver’s seat. 

Colin knew that car like his own – after all, he was the one who picked it out and paid for it. Three years prior, Terry had his boys deliver a message to Mickey in the middle of the night.  Mickey woke up to a car full of thugs outside his place, blowing holes into his vehicle.  They shot it all to hell, leaving hundreds of bullet holes in every inch, then drove off screaming slurs at him as he came running outside, gun in hand.

That was Terry’s forte – terrorize and taunt, and hope to break Mickey even more than he already had.  If he did it often enough, maybe Mickey would think twice about working on any case that took him close to the Milkovich crew. 

It hadn’t worked though. The very next day, Mickey went into his Lieutenant's office more determined than ever to do what he could to put Terry behind bars.  A week later, the keys to a brand new Ford were delivered to Mickey’s home, complete with bullet proof windows, unbeknownst to Mickey.  The boy who delivered it had a simple message: “Fuck dad. Be careful.”

Since that day, Colin had been keeping tabs on his baby brother, doing all he could to divert Mickey and his partner away from big trouble.  It was a wonder what a few flat tires could do to buy a little time. And while Mickey was still making impressive progress through investigation he was assigned to, Colin made sure he was kept at arm’s length from Terry’s crew.

“Yeah, that was Sullivan.  He was driving me fucking nuts, so I just told him to go grab –“  Mickey was finally coherent enough to see where this conversation was going.  “Fucking hell!  You think he fucking –“

“Oh I don’t think.  I know.  Hammer didn’t shut his fuckin’ trap one time, bitching about how he had to get out here by 8:30 to do some job for Terry.”

Mickey checked his watch. It was just 9.  Sullivan had been gone almost 45 minutes, and either he was about to drive up and make a fool of both of them, or prove them right.  He glanced around Colin toward the parking lot just in time to see Hammer sitting up and reaching for his gun.

“Get down!” Mickey yelled, grabbing for his own gun in his waistband.

Colin leaped forward covering Mickey’s body, shielding him from the shots that filled the air.  Mickey got two rounds off before he was thrown to the ground by his brother.  It took Colin a few seconds before he realized the gunfire had stopped.  Colin wasn't a small guy. He was at least six inches taller than Mickey and easily weighed sixty or seventy pounds more. Mickey grunted something about not being able to breathe and pushed Colin off his body.

They both looked back at Hammer and saw that Mickey’s bullet had landed straight between his eyes.

“HOLY FUCK!”  Colin said.  He moved back so that he was leaned against a post.  He laughed, sounding a little crazy and a lot surprised that either of them were still breathing. “Fuck, are you ok?”

Mickey sat up slowly, his legs and ribs screaming in pain with each move.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m fine.”   

Colin coughed out a laugh, paying no attention to the small sprays of blood that fell onto his shirt.  His breathing was labored.  He looked at Hammer, dead where he lay. He reached behind his own back and felt the warm wet blood dripping down his shirt, then wiped his fingers on the side of his pants before Mickey could see it.

“You fuckin’ shot him.”  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, stretching his legs out in front of him, then took in a deep, stuttered breath before coughing up more blood.

Mickey was busy looking around the pier, making sure they were still alone.  Where the fuck was Sullivan?  If he walked up on them right now, Mickey knew Colin would put a bullet through his head just as quick as Mickey had done to Hammer.

“Mickey, you ok?  Yeah, you’re good, man.  Look, barely a fucking knick.”  Colin asked again.  He’d always been over protective like that, ever since Mickey could remember. When Mickey was little, if he fell down, Colin would spend the rest of the day checking up to make sure he was still ok.  And now, even though they hadn’t spoken in years, it seemed some things never changed.

Mickey’s rubbed his face, and spit out a mouth full of blood. He looked like a dump truck had run over him twice, and he felt like it as well.  He looked at his older brother who was smiling back at him.  Colin slid an inch or two down the post.

“Hey, man.  You ok?”  Mickey moved to get a closer look at his brother.  “Colin, hey?  Look at me”

Colin closed his eyes, but his smile remained as he waved Mickey off.

“’m good.” He mumbled.  Blood trickled slowly from his mouth.

“Fuck… Colin! You’re fucking bleeding! We need to get you out of here, man.”

“Mick…”  Colin coughed, blood coming up with each spurt. “Mickey, listen. I’m good.”  He struggled to breath with each word.  “You gotta go.  This was Terry’s doing.  You need to leave now.”

Mickey was shaking his head, trying to pull Colin up so he wouldn’t choke on the blood he was coughing.

“Mickey, stop… I need you to get up and get the fuck out of here. He’s not gonna stop if he knows you’re still alive. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”  Colin used every ounce of energy he had left and pushed Mickey off of him.

“Get the fuck off me –“ he gurgled.

It all made sense.  Sullivan saying he had talked to the warehouse owner earlier that day, Caffrey supposedly sending them out without a team to search the warehouse, Hammer showing up minutes after Sullivan left.

Mickey knew Colin was right – this was Terry’s doing, and he would keep coming for him as long as he thought Mickey was still alive.  The decision was made as quickly as the realization had come to him – he had to make Terry believe he was dead if he wanted to stay alive.

Mickey grabbed the ropes that had been tied around his ankles.  “Ok.  Ok.  Just hang tight, Colin.  We’re gonna get you some help.” 

Mickey moved quickly, tying the rope securely around Hammer’s legs, then dragging his body to the water’s edge.   The water lapped at the pier, daring Mickey to do it.  He hesitated just a second, then pushed Hammer’s body in.  He floated just below the surface briefly before jerking at the weight of the sandbags that pulled him down.  They were close enough to the river’s current that Mickey knew he would be carried away with the tide.

He turned back to Colin, assessing their surroundings once again.  Colin reached a hand up holding his closed fist out for Mickey to take what he was holding.  He dropped a set of keys into his hand.

“You gotta go, Mick.”  His words barely audible now. “They’ll be looking for us before the night’s over.  Get out of town.”

Mickey sat with his brother, both of them lost for words.  Twelve years with less than a full conversation between them, but somehow Colin had always let Mickey know that if the shit hit the fan, he’d find a way to have his back.  Well, if this wasn’t the shit, Mickey didn’t know what was. 

He nodded, knowing Colin was right.  With Hammer’s body gone, Mickey had one shot at getting out before Terry would begin to piece together what had really happened. Terry would assume things had gone south between Colin and Hammer, but might still assume Mickey had been taken care of.

“Colin.  I-”

“No Mick.  I should have been there.  All these years, I should have been…  I’m sorry.” Mickey held his brother’s head as he coughed out blood, struggling with his last words.  “I’m sorry, Mick.”

***

Colin’s car was hardly inconspicuous.  It was the latest Ford Deluxe Tudor, in a deep brick red color.  If Colin had been a Hollywood movie star, it would have been a fucking fantastic car to roll up on the red carpet.  It was not such a great car if you were trying to escape the Chicago city limits without the whole fucking mob looking for you.  The only thing saving Mickey’s ass right then was the fact that no one was looking for _him_ … yet. 

He drove past the diner Sullivan said he was going to.  He wanted to get his own car back and get out of this red moving target as soon as possible.  The streets were filled with Friday night traffic, all of Chicago seemed to be out for the evening,. Mickey drove by the diner but didn’t see his car right away. He flipped a U-turn at the next block and came back around, but it still wasn’t there. 

Where the fuck was Sullivan?  He could have gone back to the docks, but Mickey was sure they would have passed each other on the road. 

The clock was ticking, and his window of opportunity to get out of Chicago was quickly closing.  He decided to head back to his place, get what he needed, then hopefully get as far from the city lights as he could before anyone came looking for him.

His apartment was ten minutes away.  The plan was to grab a quick bag of essentials, but as he turned the corner the first thing he saw was his Ford, parked right the fuck in front of his building.   Mickey stopped the car, wondering why Sullivan was at his place.  His house key was on the ring with the car key he had given Sullivan. 

Mickey drove forward, staying wary of anyone coming out of the building.  He had his hand on his gun beside him, not sure what to expect.  It seemed the idea of packing a travel bag was now off the table. Mickey hit the gas and drove off.  Whatever he’d left in that apartment was left for good – at least for now.  He headed for the freeway, taking the exit heading south.  South was the quickest route out of town, and the least likely direction he might run into any more of Terry’s men.


	7. Best Coffee This Side of the Rockies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question came up about how often I will be posting new chapters. This is actually a completed story (not a WIP), however I haven't had time to edit it. I will be posting chapters as I'm able to complete a rough edit on each, hopefully a few each week. I'll be on hiatus for a few weeks in June while I travel, but will get up as many as I can before I go.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the comments and for reading along.

Mickey drove for twelve hours, stopping only long enough to get gas and a cup of thick black coffee from a truck stop along the way.  His eyes were drooping dangerously as he tried to concentrate on the endless black road in front of him.  He had moved off the main roads after clearing Chicago city limits and was sticking to the blue highways as much as possible. There wasn’t much to see other than a dozen or so cars or trucks and miles and miles of farmland.

Now that the sun was up, he knew he needed to find a place to pull over and catch a nap.  There was no way he could continue to drive Colin’s red car in the middle of the day without catching attention. Not to mention the fact that aside from what he was able to wash away in the truck stop bathroom, his face and clothes were a mess with blood and dirt, and feeling every ache and pain from the beating he’d taken the night before.

He kept an eye out for the next service exit. Thank god he still had a wallet on him, even if he didn’t have a single other thing with him.  A few miles up the road, a blue sign announced gas, food, shelter.  He turned off when the thought hit him – what if one of Terry’s men were to catch up to him while he was taking a nap?  It wouldn’t just be the car to get shot up this time, he was positive about that.  Maybe it was a better idea to find some billboard off road to park behind for a nap.  In the meantime, he still needed food.

A half mile in he found himself on the main street of a small farming town in the midst of their mid-morning hustle.  He drove through town slowly, catching plenty of attention as people turned to look at the stranger’s shiny red car. He pulled along the curb a few doors from a diner and checked himself in the rearview mirror.  He looked even worse now, with bloodshot tired eyes. Fuck it – he needed food.

The bell above the diner door brought all eyes to Mickey as he walked in. If it was even possible, the silence that fell over the room was even louder than the chatter had been when he first opened the door.  He kept his eyes straight ahead, knowing it was pointless to try pleasantries here.  He was a bloodied stranger, and no amount of manners or smiling was going to earn anyone’s trust here.

The woman behind the counter was wide eyed  and wary  as he made his way in her direction.  Patrons along his path moved their chairs to the side, putting as much distance between them and him as possible.   A few of the men in the room readied themselves as if they expected trouble. 

“Hi… uh.  I’m sorry, I’m looking for a motel, someplace I can get cleaned up.  You got anything like that in town?” Mickey asked quietly when he approached the counter.

The woman shook her head nervously, “N-no. Don’t got any overnight accommodations here.  Maybe ‘bout 10 miles up the road, you can find something there.”

She was anxious to get him out of her diner as soon as possible, and he understood completely.  She took a step back when he reached into his jacket to pull out his wallet.  The silence in the room continued, and Mickey knew there was no chance of anyone offering him help here.

“You think I can get a ham sandwich for the road?”  Mickey reached into his back pocket for his wallet, briefly exposing the butt of the revolver he was wearing under his shirt.

“Hey! Mister! I think you need to go now.  We don’t want no trouble here.”  Three men at a nearby table stood up, knocking one of their chairs to the ground and making several other people in the room jump. 

The man who had spoke took a step toward Mickey, one hand out as if to keep him at a distance, the other hand slowly reaching behind him.  Mickey knew that only meant one thing – the guy had a gun. Without a second to spare, in case this guy decided to go vigilante on his ass, Mickey flipped his wallet open, exposing his Federal Agent badge to the man, who stopped in his tracks.  Mickey slowly turned so the rest of the patrons in the room could see it.

“Listen, I know what I must look like.  I just really need to clean up and get something to eat and then I’ll get out of your hair. I’m not trying to cause a problem here.”

Mr. Vigilante kept his eyes on Mickey’s badge.

“That ain’t real.” He challenged.

Mickey pulled the badge from its slip and tossed it to the guy. “That fuckin’ real enough for you?” He asked, his frustration and impatience beginning to seep through. 

“Hey!  Watch your mouth.  There’s ladies here.” The guy warned.  He inspected the badge, turning it over in his hand as if there was some secret code that would confirm it was authentic, then shrugged.  Never having seen an actual FBI badge before, he had no idea if it was real or not, but it was heavy and real enough.  He handed it back to Mickey.

“Ok.  Make it quick and leave.”

The door to the diner opened again.  Everyone including Mickey turned as an older man came walking in slowly, aided by a hickory cane.

“Marge, get me a cof-“ The man stopped dead in his tracks, caught more off guard by the silence of the room than he was by the bloodied stranger by the counter. “Why’s everyone so quiet?  Someone die?”

Mr. Vigilante stepped aside, exposing Mickey to the new stranger.  Mickey knew the man was taking him in from head to toe, but he kept his eyes on his wallet as he pinned his badge back into the slip.

“What we got here?”

Mr. Vigilante answered first, the bravado returning to his tone, “This here gentleman was just _leaving_.  Ain’t that right?”

“Soon as I get something to eat.” Mickey answered quietly, peering up at him none to friendly.  He turned to the counter.  It was obvious in the way he moved that he was hurt, but he tried his best not to let on to the pain he was in as well.

The old man at the door walked straight up to Mickey, getting in front of him so he had no choice but to look back.

“What’s your name son?”  The old man asked.

“Don’t see how that has anything to do with getting a bite to eat.”  Mickey answered. “How ‘bout that ham sandwich?” he asked _Marge_ again.

He slipped himself onto one of the vinyl bar stools, wincing at the pain in his ribs.  He took a deep breath in, then let it out steadily, taking great effort not to groan.

Madge went about fixing his sandwich, and most of the room went back to whispered conversations, likely about him.  The old man nodded at Mr. Vigilante, dismissing him from his watch.  He took a seat on the stool next to Mickey, not hiding the painful groans as he adjusted in the seat.

“Buy you a cup of coffee?” He asked. 

Mickey glanced around the room. He wasn’t sure if it was the presence of this new man or just sudden disinterest from the crowd, but no one seemed to care that he was sitting there anymore.

“Need to find a room and sleep.  Don’t think coffees the right idea – thanks though.”

Madge set a cup of coffee in front of the old man with a friendly smile, and a brown bag in front of Mickey. Her smile melted into a scowl.  Mickey opened his wallet again to get a few bills to pay.  The old man caught a glimpse of his badge.

“Looks like you could use a little help, is all I’m saying.” He offered quietly.

Mickey swallowed.  He really could use a little help, but after the initial reception he’d received at the diner, this sudden changed in attitude from this old man caught him off guard.  He glanced up at him briefly, then diverted his eyes, looking around the room again.  He gave the slightest nod.  If one hadn’t been paying attention, it would have been missed altogether.

The man placed a few coins on the counter for his coffee and a tip, “Ok.  Let’s go.  You can come by my place to clean up.”

Madge’s mouth fell open.  The old man winked at her and smiled, assuring her he was going to be just fine taking this stranger home.  “You got a vehicle or do you need a ride?”

“Got a car.” Mickey answered.

“It ain’t that red monster out on the curb is it?”  he joked.

Finally, Mickey cracked a smile and nodded.  “Yeah… believe me, it wasn’t my first choice.”

They headed out of the diner, then drove in tandem for a few miles before finally turning onto a dirt road that lead to a large farmhouse sitting back on acres of land. Once parked, Mickey followed the man into the house, hoping the questions would be kept to a minimum.  He was genuinely surprised when no questions came at all. 

There were clean towels and a twin bed to sleep on, and the old man even gathered a set of fresh clothes for Mickey to wear, then left him to clean up.  The room Mickey looked like no one had used it for years, but there were old war uniforms hanging in the closet and an American flag folded in a display case hanging on the wall.  A photo of a young soldier hung next to it.

The old man returned as Mickey was slipping on the borrowed shirt.

“Hold on a sec.  Noticed you have a few cuts and bruises.” The man held up a leather case.

“That noticeable, huh?” Mickey joked.  He knew what he looked like, and it wasn’t pretty.

“Let’s get those taken care of so you can get some rest.”  He opened the case revealing an entire doctors kit, complete with salves and bandages of all different kinds.

“You a doc?”

“Retired. Now I just take care of horses and sheep.  Turn around.”  The man took his time checking Mickey’s ribs.  Two possibly broken, a few cracked for sure.  He wrapped a long bandage around Mickey, securing it with pins, then started looking at a few cuts that looked like they’d missed the opportunity for stitching.

“Should I ask what happened?”  The old man asked.

“Probably not.”

That was all it took.  The old man finished up without another question, then left Mickey to eat his sandwich and get some rest.

He woke up hours later, when the sun was low on the horizon.  It was time to hit the road.  When he entered the living room, the old man was reading the paper with low jazz playing from a transistor on the table.

“Feeling better?” He asked without looking up.

“Yeah.”  Mickey looked around the room.  It was cozy and well lived in, much like the house he had been raised in once he’d gone to live with his grandfather.  He hadn’t been back in a house like this in years – one that felt like a home, with family. His own place was minimally decorated at best – a bed, a couch, a table and two chairs and not much more. “Thanks – for everything.”

He was sure this was when the questions would start, but the man just nodded and said, “Yup. Glad we could help.”

Mickey reached into his pocket for his keys, when the man stood. “Is there a phone in town I can use?  I need to make a call.”

“Yep. There’s one in the kitchen.”  Mickey walked to the back of the house where the man pointed.

Back in Chicago, it was well after normal office hours on a Saturday, but Mickey never work normal office hours, and neither did his boss.  He had to assume that by now Caffrey knew he was missing.  Whether or not Sullivan had said anything about it was a mystery. There were still too many unanswered questions circling around Sullivan but Mickey was positive he was tied to Terry and Hammer coming for him.

The Bureau phone rang twice before Caffrey picked up. “’ello.  Hello?” 

Mickey needed to trust someone, but was Caffrey the right person, or had he been in on it too? After all, Sullivan had said Caffrey sent them out to the warehouse. He was about to find out.

“Hey. It’s Milkovich.”

“Oh, hey. You feeling better?”

“Huh?”

“Saw Sully this morning.  He mentioned you were home sick all morning.  Ate something bad?”

That was all the evidence Mickey needed.  By the tone of Caffrey’s voice, he was none the wiser to what had happened down at the docks.  It was Sullivan alone who had two timed him, and probably assumed Mickey to be dead right now.  The question was, how long had he planned to sustain the lie?

If Mickey hadn’t made the call to Caffrey, Sullivan might have been ok.  After all, it all added up – The missing files with the Milkovich name tied to it, Mickey calling off sick by way of Sullivan, then suddenly disappearing.  Everyone would just assume he was guilty of working with the mob at that point, and go on a manhunt for a rogue agent.  No one would ever suspect Mickey to be dead at the bottom of the lake, or that Sullivan had a hand in any of it.

But… that wasn’t how this was playing out.

“Yeah, yeah.  Feeling better.” 

“You sound like shit.”

“Listen, I’m fine. I only got a minute, then I need to hang up.”  Caffrey didn’t say a word.  Mickey messed around all the time, always with a smartass remark, but seldom had Caffrey ever heard him sounding this serious.  “My brother was killed last night.”

“Yeah, Mickey.  Just heard about that.”  Caffrey wasn’t sure if condolences were in order or not.  Everyone assumed Mickey didn’t have a relationship with the Milkovich side of the family, but lately that had become questionable with those missing boxes and all.  Either way, it didn’t take away from the fact that Mickey might somehow be dealing with this death in his own way.

“I was there.” Mickey added.

“What the hell are you-”

“No, Lieutenant.  I need you to just listen.  I only got a minute, ok. Sullivan knew.  I don’t know how, but he did.  I’m not in Chicago any more. Colin got me out.” Mickey leaned around the door to look into the living room making sure the old man was still reading his paper.  “I really can’t talk right now, but I needed to tell you that.  Sullivan was in on this, and right now he thinks I’m dead.”

Mickey wasn’t sure what more to say.  He didn’t know what Sullivan knew, but Mickey was positive he thought Mickey was dead.  “I need you to stay quiet until I can figure out what’s going on.  I’ll be in touch.”  He didn’t offer any more than that.  He hung up before Caffrey could ask any other questions.

He walked back into the living room.  Mickey opened his wallet and tossed some money on the coffee table.

“No, no, that’s not necessary.”

“It is, please take it.  Let me at least pay for the call I just made.” Mickey offered.  The man didn’t argue.

“Here. My wife packed up some lunches for you.”   He handed Mickey a stuffed brown bag, then offered his hand to shake.  “Don’t know where you’re headed, but folks round here won’t remember you were here when you’re gone.  I can promise you that.”

“Why are you doing this?  Helping me out?” Mickey finally asked.

“You looked like you could use a little help.”  That was it. No deep story tied to the picture of the young soldier.  No youthful antics to share. 

Mickey shook his hand, grateful for whatever guardian angel was riding his shoulder the past 24 hours.  

As he pulled back onto the road toward town he passed as sign announcing he was on a Kansas County Road.  How much further did he need to drive to be safely out of Terry’s reach?

He pulled the car into a gas station before leaving town. The attendant jogged out to the car with a smile at the sound of the bells ringing.  He didn’t give Mickey’s bruised face a second glance as he asked. “Check yer oil for you tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

The attendant went about his business, starting with the windows, then popping the hood of the car to check the old. Mickey decided now was as good a time as any to take inventory of Colin’s car. Knowing his brother, there’d be a flask filled with something stronger than coffee somewhere in the car.  Prohibition had done nothing to keep the Milkovich family from their liquor. If anything, it gave them more access than they had ever had before.

Mickey went around the back of the car and popped open the trunk.  There was a canvas bag filled with baseball bats.  If it were anybody else’s car, one might think Colin was a fan of the sport, but Mickey knew better.  These were his tools of the trade.  A closer look revealed traces of blood that had been carelessly left behind.

Mickey looked around to make sure the attendant was still busy up at the front of the car, then pulled a few bats from the bag.  He found more than he had expected.  Hiding underneath the bats was definitely a flask, and full at that – Mickey had never been so damn grateful – he stuck the flask into his back pocket.  The next thing he pulled out was a worn black leather satchel. 

He unclipped the buckle and turned over the flap.  It was filled with neatly stacked small bills.  Mickey thumbed through it – One, two, three… He kept counting.  There had to be at least $10,000 in cash.  What the fuck was Colin doing with ten grand? 

He heard the hood of the car slam shut as the attendant finished up.

“Ok, you’re all set.” 

Mickey closed the satchel and stuffed it back into the bottom of the baseball bag, then slammed the trunk closed.

“Great.  What do I owe you?”  He counted out bills from his own wallet, noticing he was running short on cash.  Well, that wasn’t a problem any more, was it?  He had plenty of cash now.  The only problem saw with his new fortune was that it was very likely Terry’s cash – or more dangerously, it was Nitti’s cash.  And both of them were gonna be wanting it back very soon.  That meant, someone was going to come looking for it.

***

Mickey drove through the night, nipping at the and wondering what the news in Chicago was.  By now the Family was sure to looking for Hammer.  If things had gone as Mickey hoped, Terry would suspect Hammer killed both him and Colin, then took off with the money.  Being well aware of Terry’s reach, he knew there were no men from his crew in as far west as Colorado, but Nitti had eyes all across the country.  As sweet as Colin’s red-hot target of a car was, Mickey new he would need to dump it as soon as possible. 

When the sun came up, he pulled to the side of the road behind a billboard and ate the last of the sandwiches in the bag.  He’d get a few hours of sleep during the busy hours of the day, then hit the road again when the sun went down. It was the safest way to travel. He found a spot to sleep under some nearby trees and closed his eyes.

***

_”Come on baby, come for me…”_

Mickey woke with a start, sitting straight up. He was soaked through his shirt with sweat from the heat of the day.  At least he thought it was from the heat.  He closed his eyes again for a minute trying to remember what he had been dreaming about– or more importantly, _who_ he had been dreaming about.  The only thing he could remember was a fire bright red over his shoulder as someone whispered in his ear, “ _Come on baby_ …”

He heard the voice in his head as real as the breeze rustling the leaves in the tree overhead, “ _come for me_ …”  Mickey looked down at his tented pants. 

“Holy shit.”  He said to no one at all. 

It has been a long fucking time since he had a dream like that.  Sure, he had wet dreams all the time, who didn’t?  But that dream… it felt so real, so familiar, so …

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes then stood, adjusting himself in his pants and willing his dick to relax.  This was neither the time or place to be begging for attention.  A quick piss break, and he was on the road again, headed west. 

West.  Mandy was west.  He wondered if the Feds had contacted her yet.  It would only be a matter of time before they knocked on her door.  He had tried to separate her from the Chicago underworld of crime three years ago when he sent her out to California to live, but now he worried that trouble may be returning to her front door if he didn’t get a handle on it soon. This wasn’t the time to start worrying about that.

He stopped a few times through the night for food and gas and finally crossed the border into Colorado as the sun was coming up.  As sunlight spread across the last of the flat plains, it began to illuminate the glorious Rocky Mountains in the distance.  At first, he thought it had to be an illusion – hills at best, off in the distant – but the further west he drove, the larger they loomed up in front of him.  He’d never seen anything like it in all his life.  He’d seen picture but watching them rise higher and higher as he drove west, with the most amazing blue skies above him, he was spellbound. 

Road signs announced he was ten miles outside of Denver. That would be a good place to dump the car.  He pulled off the road and parked, then went around to the trunk.  He grabbed some odds and end contents, dumping it on the side of the road.  He took the satchel of cash and tucked it under the driver’s seat.  There was a handgun in the bag – he checked for bullets then tucked it into his front jacket pocket. He put the bat bag on the passenger seat of the car, then searched the glove box for registration or title work, tucking any papers he found into his pocket. The last thing to pull would be the plates, but that would have to wait.

He got back on the road, driving with his window down. He took a bat from the bag and tossed it out onto the side of the road.  A mile later, he threw another, and continued this until they were all gone.  No one would notice them unless they happened to be walking a very long stretch of the road.

Twenty minutes later Mickey rolled into the Denver’s mid town, amid the morning hustle and bustle. He parked on a side road, grabbed the satchel of cash, then went around the back to remove the plates from the car. That was as far as he dared drive the car. He’d have to dip into Terry’s cash to find new transportation from this point on.

Walking back onto the main stretch of road, Broadway, according to the street sign, he headed straight into the crowd of people making their way through the streets.  There were hotels and business offices, and people coming and going without looking twice at him.  He loved a city – as busted up as his face must still look, no one bothered to give him a second glance. If anything, they gave him a little more walking room.

He found a hotel and made his way to the front desk, inquiring about a room and possibly an automobile dealership in the area.  The concierge pointed him in the right direction then handed over a room key.  After a quick shower, Mickey headed out in search of a new car. 

By mid-afternoon he’d purchased some new clothes and a used green pickup truck.  He dropped his bags in the room, then went down to the restaurant adjacent to the lobby. With Colin’s car gone, he had the luxury of relaxing a little while he planned his next move. 

Any place west of the Rockies were heavy with the Outfit.  Going east of Kansas was out of the question.  Right now, Colorado seemed to be the sanctuary he was looking for, at least until he could figure out his next move.

He dined alone, listening to the chatter of business men around the room.  Men like them were an anomaly to him. Growing up on the South Side of Chicago, most neighborhood businesses were family owned, but not the suit and tie kind of places. It was more the apron and broom type of world. It was a fucking miracle Mickey had made it out of there alive, without getting attached to some street gang or crew.  That likely had something to do with his last name – Milkovich. Everyone knew Terry, and there wasn’t a chance of Mickey getting picked up by a competing crew as long as Terry was alive.  

Didn’t matter anyway – Mickey’s grandfather had made sure of that. Sure, he was still South Side, but once he went to live with his grandfather at almost 17 years old, school became a priority.  His grandfather might not have been a made man, but he was no one to mess with either.  If he said you were getting a fucking education, he meant it.  And so, Mickey had. And until his grandfather’s death eight years ago, he continued his education, in all fucking things – Law. 

The gangster’s son, the scrappy little thug from the South Side with a temper shorter than a New York minute found himself working with Chicago’s finest. Before he knew it, he’d moved on to the Feds.  A full fledged Agent, thanks to the 18th fucking amendment. They had recruited every man they could get, because Prohibition was no fucking joke in Chicago.  People got shot up every day over wanting a sip of hooch.  Mickey got assigned to a team tasked to enforce the laws that he himself broke at every opportunity.  What could he say – he liked the taste of fucking whiskey.

The waitress stopped to fill his water and he decided to take a change, “Any place around here to get something a little stronger?”  He flashed her the most beautiful smile, his blue eyes crinkling into happy laugh lines at each corner. 

“Depends on what you’re looking for.” She smiled back, taking him in, scrapes, bruises and all. In his state, it wasn’t like he was a cop, so as long as he could afford it, she wasn’t too worried about giving him a little information.    

 “Whiskey, if you got it.”

She gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to show her the cash. His smile never wavering as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills and slid them onto the table.  She discretely reached down and slid the bills into her apron. “I’ll see what I can find.”

A few minutes later, she was back at his table, “Here’s your coffee, sir.  Anything else I can bring you.”

He flashed another smile, then sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. For some reason, women found it irresistible when he did that.

“No, you’ve been great, thank you.”  He took a sip of the drink as she walked away, its oaky heat warming his tongue and throat.  Fuck that was good!  He hadn’t had anything this good in a long fucking time. 

Mickey raised his hand for the waitress’s attention once more. “Yes sir.  Is everything ok?”

“This is the best… uh, coffee I’ve had in a long time.  Local?”

She smiled coyly at him.  “You know I wouldn’t know.”

Of course, she wouldn’t, he thought.  That was the dumbest fucking question he could have asked her.  But then she continued.

“I hear there’s a farm right up Hwy 34. They grow coffee beans this side of the Rockies.” She winked, and with that she was gone.

No joke.  This was the best fucking coffee this side of the Rockies and as far East as Mickey could remember in a long time.  Maybe he would take a little road trip up Hwy 34 in his new truck – grab a cup of joe while he’s at it. 


	8. That Fucking Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooowee! The mistakes I left in that last chapter, amirite!? Well, too late now. On we go (and I can't promise it gets any better!)

“Ian, don’t leave yet.  Sheila wants you to stop by and take a look at her boiler, it’s acting up again.”

“Can’t do it today. Gotta go pick up these supplies, Fi.  You know that.  Tell her I can look at it later this week.”  Ian checked his wallet to make sure he had enough cash to take care of business once he got to Denver.  

Fiona was going through the long to-do list of jobs that had been piling up since early June.  It consisted of every work order that had come in and been put “on hold” until the fall when the tourist season finally slowed down a bit.  All the jobs they needed to complete before winter were on that list.  

“Shit, that’s right. I’ll tell Sheila you’ll be in later, but don’t make her wait, Ian.  Weather’s changing and it could snow anytime.  She needs heat in her place.” 

She pulled the strap of her overalls back up onto her shoulder as she completed each work order ticket. Inventory week in town didn’t really allow for pretty dresses and bonnets. For that matter, Fiona’s life in general didn’t really allow for that, so overalls and jeans were her go to outfits most days.  Ian hadn’t answered, so she repeated herself.  
  
“Did you hear me?  Weather’s gonna change soon.”

He rolled his eyes as she reminded him yet again that the snow was coming.  Everyone knew the snow was coming, it was October for crying out loud. He was just grateful it was taking its sweet time getting there, so that maybe he’d have a chance to get some of those work orders done before he had to freeze his ass off.  Every single job in town seemed to fall on his shoulders.  If someone’s boiler went out, Ian went to fix it.  Got a leaking roof, Ian would put a new one on for you.  Lost your cat up a tree, Ian was fucking taller than ninety percent of the people there, he’ll save the little shit. 

Everyone needed Ian to help, but no one ever bothered to _ask_ Ian themselves.  They just went straight to Fiona to schedule his time.  In all fairness, Ian knew he was being ridiculous to even think that way.  That was how the system worked in this town – Fiona handled the work orders, Ian carried them out. But just once he would like to be asked instead of told what to do.

Fiona saw his frustration and knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Ok, stop hanging a face. I’ll see if I can get Lip or Carl to go look at the boiler, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.  Lip’s probably the reason it’s not working in the first place. Remember I sent him to take a look at it last winter.”  She put her notepad and pen on the counter and turned to give him her full attention.  
“When will you be back?”

There were deliveries to be made to a few hotels in Denver, then he had to stop to fill the winter supply list that Fiona had been writing up all summer long, or at a least part of it.  The list she’d given him would take two or three trips this year, and a few big trucks.  After that, he had dinner plans with Trevor.  “Probably tomorrow. Got a date tonight.”

He went into the back room to grab his truck keys and pack up one last box. The bell over the store’s front door rang. Fiona looked up and for a second her breath stalled right in her throat as a striking man came strolling in. 

There wasn’t any single thing about him that stood out, but the whole package was quite a sight. He had pale alabaster skin mottled with nearly healed bruises, and hair so dark it was almost black. He was dressed simply in a pair of blue jeans with a button-down navy blue shirt, carrying a small suitcase along with a worn leather satchel thrown over his shoulder. He pushed a few wild hairs off his forehead, running his fingers through the back of his hair, and Fiona couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers through his dark bla-

“Hi, welcome to Outfitters.  Looking for anything special?” She managed to mumble out, pushing the rest of the thought of her fingers in his hair from her head. She gave him a winning smile, trying to ignore the ruckus Ian was making in the back room.

“Hi, actually I need a little help.” The stranger rubbed his thumb across his lip, his eyes darting from Fiona then toward the back room where something heavy crashed to the floor, followed by a round of cursing.  Fiona jumped a bit, but the stranger just laughed as the cursing grew louder and another crash came.

Fiona leaned back to peek behind the door.  Nothing was on fire and Ian looked like he was still in one piece, so she turned her attention back to the not exactly tall, not exactly dark, but definitely handsome stranger.  

“Is everything ok back there?  Do you need to go check on it?” He asked her, his brows raised high on his forehead and an amused grin on his face.  Wow, he was really something, she though.

“Nope! It’s all good. How can I help you?” She asked again.

Ian continued to fumble around cursing in the storage room behind her as something else fell to the floor, the sound of shattering glass triggering another round of cursing.  The dark-haired stranger chucked and nodded his head.

“You sure you don’t need to check on that?” He asked again.

“No, it’s just my asshole brother. Ignore him. He’s fine. How can I help you…?”  **_Crash!_** – or not. 

“Oh, Mickey, nice to meet you.” He introduced himself, laughing once more at the chaos in the back room.  “I was driving up the road about a mile or two from here and I ran into a fucking mountain.  Oh, shit, I’m sorry.  I mean I ran into a mountain… a rock, some shit like that big in the middle of the road.” He waved his hand around as if to indicate the size of something huge directly in front of him.

Fiona laughed at his failed attempt to clean up his language.

“Don’t worry, Mickey – I’ve heard the F Word before. Been known to toss it out there a few times myself, actually.”

Ian walked out from the back room carrying a large box.  He went straight out the front door without ever looking at Fiona or Mickey, put the box in the back of his truck, then came jogging back in just as quickly.  Mickey watched him go, his eyes glued to the bright red hair on Ian’s head.  It was red, like fire, like his dream – and he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.  

Back in the store, Ian fumbled around the wall behind the counter, making notes of items they were short on. He took a step back and nearly tripped over one of the laces of his boots.  He grabbed out to balance himself and knocked one of the display shelves over, dropping its contents to the floor with a crash!

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Fiona exclaimed, forgetting Mickey was still standing there.

Mickey covered his mouth with a hand and turned away laughing.  Ian looked up to see who was laughing, catching only the back of Mickey’s head.  _Asshole,_ Ian thought to himself.

“My goddamn boots won’t stay tied.”  He said as he leaned down to tie his boot.

“Well just stop touching shit! You’re tearing up the store.”  Fiona began picking up the mess on the floor and Mickey wandered away from the counter, giving them a chance to pull themselves together.  He found a spot behind some kayaks where he could peek over at the red head a bit more discretely.

“Fi – I noticed that the dynamite you had in the back this morning is gone. You might want to find Carl.” Ian grabbed the sheet of paper he’d been writing on, leaned over and pecked a kiss on the top of Fiona’s head and headed for the door before dropping another bit of bad news on her.  “Also, I kinda dropped a box that was on the shelf – it’s leaking on the floor.  Sorry ‘bout that.” With that he walked out of the store without a second glance back.  Mickey stepped out from behind the kayaks, and kept his eyes on Ian all the way out the door.

“Fuck! How the hell did Carl get out of here with dynamite?” She yelled at no one in particular.  “I’ve been here all fucking day.”  She mumbled. 

Mickey was standing back in front of her, brows raised surprised at her colorful outburst. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Fiona said.

“No, ‘s all right.  You gave me fair warning that you knew that word – fair’s fair.” 

He could tell the mess the red head had left behind along with the news of the missing dynamite had her frazzled. “D’you need to go take care of that dynamite situation? And maybe that leaking situation in back?  I can wait.”

“Yes.  No.  I, uh… Shit, I don’t know.  I’m sorry.  Just … Give me a sec.” She disappeared into the back room leaving Mickey alone. 

He walked to the storefront window and watched the red head tie down the last of his load in the back of the truck, then pulled away in a hurry.  Mickey looked around the store and really took it in for the first time since he’d walked in the door.  The sign on the outside of the store said “Rocky Mountain Outfitters” and he had expected it to be some kind of clothing store.  Instead what he saw was walls lined with fishing and camping gear, rows of snowshoes, canvas hiking bags, kayaks, tent displays, and hundreds of other types of gear one might use on an outdoor adventure, including a giant canoe hanging across the ceiling. 

He heard the woman in the back room cleaning up whatever mess was left behind and mumbling her complaints.  “Sorry, I’m coming!  Be right there.  Don’t go anywhere.”

Mickey looked at the row of guns behind the counter and considered purchasing some ammunition for the two guns he had with him but decided against it for the time being.  He’d much rather do that at a shop where they were less likely to remember him, not some small-town outfit like this.

“Alright, I’m back.  Sorry about that.  Carl… my brother, went out to take a beaver dam down today. I thought he was gonna be smart about it, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if he blows his ass up before the day is over.  I sent someone out to check on him.”

“So basically, you’re gonna end up with two people getting their asses blown up instead of one?”  Mickey asked, with an amused grin on his face.

“You’re not really helping.” Her deadpan stare wiped the grin off his face immediately. “So, what was it you needed help with – something about driving into a mountain?”

‘Hehe, yeah, about that.  I was staying down at the Stanley in Estes Park for a few days, and someone suggested I take a drive out to some new Trail Ridge Road before the weather changed.  Thought it might be a nice drive until I came around a corner and there was a big fucking boulder in the middle of the road.   I swerved – thought I’d missed it, but the front end of my truck clipped it pretty good.” 

He bit his lip nervously and ran his hands through his hair just as he had done earlier, now embarrassed to be admitting his own stupidity in driving errors.

“Yeah, those fucking boulders like to jump right out on the road like that and mess up a nice afternoon drive.”  Fiona joked, eliciting a genuine and beautiful smile from the him.  He bit his lip again and she just sort of melted watching it.  She was smitten, and he definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes, bruised up or not. 

“I tried to get my truck turned around, but it’s leaking fluid and shit all over the place, so I had to pull off the side of the road.  Saw your town sign… and well, here I am.”  He put his arms up at his side as if he were some grand prize she’d won, making Fiona giggle. 

It wasn’t lost on him, the way she was looking at him, but right now wasn’t the time to let her know she was sporting the wrong equipment. The red head, on the other hand, had looked pretty damn good to him.  Mickey wanted to ask her a little about the tall drink of water that had just walked out of the store, but now wasn’t the time for that either.  He needed help and if he had to woo her to get his truck off the road, then by god he was going to woo the fuck out of her. But not literally.

“So listen, I got good news and bad news for you.  The good news is we can get your truck back here, but probably not until tomorrow since both Carl and our mechanic are gone right now.  The bad news is that Ian, the guy who just walked out of here, took the wench and chains we’re gonna need to get you towed back, and I’m not expecting him back here until tomorrow either.” She realized nothing she had told him sounded good.  “That probably sounded like bad news and more bad news, didn’t it?” 

Mickey huffed a laugh and nodded, looking out of the storefront door where her brother had just exited moments before.  _Ian_.  He liked the way that sounded.

Fiona’s voice brought him back, “Jimmy, our mechanic, won’t be back until the end of next week, so unless you have someone back in Estes who can come rescue you, you might be stuck up here for a few days.”

Mickey’s head dropped to his chest. What a fucking day.  One minute it was all sunshine and blue skies, then the next minute a fucking mountain had tried to kill him.  Now he was stranded here in… where the fuck was he again? … he was stuck who-the-fuck-knew-where until Joe Shmoe the mechanic got his ass back here in a week.  He let out a defeated sigh. 

“Is there at least someplace I can get a room here?”

“Now _that_ I can definitely help you with.”  Fiona pulled out a journal from under the counter and began flipping through pages. “Fortunately for you, you’ve caught us at the end of tourist season, so there are plenty of cabins and rooms available.  You got any bags with you?”

“Just the one.  Left a few things back in my truck that I need to go back for if I’m staying.”

“I’m closing up shop here in a few.  Stick around and I’ll run you back there.  I know this wasn’t exactly a scheduled shop, so I’ll tell you what – we have plenty of space back at the house.  I can put you up there for the night and figure something out in the morning.” 

The idea of having this man around for the rest of the evening pleased her.  Fiona could stand to spend a little time with someone fresh and new to talk to aside from her brothers, and the fact that he was hotter than hell was a bonus too.


	9. Gallway Falls

The town was Gallway Falls was set off an inconspicuous dirt road that could have easily been missed if not for the wooden sign sitting off Highway 34.  If Mickey had been driving he might have missed it all together, but being that he was on foot with his truck broken down on the road behind him, he had just been lucky enough to see the sign tucked back along the bushes, and followed the road in.

He realized his luck when Fiona turned the truck down the dirt road that he barely noticed.  He was grateful that she only made small talk and didn’t dig too deeply with questions. On the other hand, she shared quite a bit about the small town itself.

Mickey learned that Fiona’s last name was Gallagher, tied directly to the name of the town.  Her family owned most of the businesses, or at the very least the buildings that other businesses were housed in. She ran the Outfitters store and was more or less the town manager, given they had no elected Mayor.  Of course, she did this all hand in hand with her siblings, and several towns people whose families had been there for generations.

They arrived back at the Gallagher house by late afternoon – if you could call it a house.  It was more like a rolling estate, definitely larger than anything Mickey had ever been in before, and he’d been in some pretty big houses back in Chicago.  This had the feel of one of those great Southern Plantation, with the covered porch that wrapped around the house, and windows lining every side of the building.  It was two stories high, with white painted columns that stood out against the red brick, and sat back on its own dirt road that ran about half a mile long before opening up the residence.  The drive was lined with thick aspens and other deciduous trees that had already shed most of their leaves.

The front lawn was a mix of wild grasses which fit the natural mountain setting, but was purposefully trimmed clean and short.  Mickey whistled as the house and a half a dozen smaller outbuildings and rows of cabins came into view.

“This is your _house?_ ”

“It’s not really that impressive.  It used to be my great grandmother’s house.  She and my great grandfather owned a stake in a goldmine back in the day.  He did pretty well with it, then they moved here to settle down and started up this little town and a whiskey company which was really his passion.  He makes, I mean _made_ a hell of a whiskey.”  She glanced at Mickey from the corner of her eye, wondering if he’d caught her mistake.  He seemed too preoccupied with the scene in front of him to have noticed.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, “Uncle Sam came in and took care of that business with this Prohibition bullshit, but we found new ways to survive.  Turned our little town into a Colorado Outdoor Adventure getaway. It took a while to get it up and running, but it really helped when Stanley built his great big hotel down in Estes. He sends a lot of his guests our way.  That and word of mouth business has kept us floating for a while.”  She pointed to the back end of the house where rows of small cabins sat up against the tree line. “We built the cabin’s a few years ago, and now we mostly use the main house for business and the cabins for summer rentals.”

She smiled proudly, knowing they had found a way to keep their little town alive during the lean years when the rest of the country had been struggling to survive.. Even with a chunk of her grandfather’s fortune still remaining, Fiona new they had to work hard to keep what they had – it wasn’t only about the Gallaghers any more – now the entire town of Gallway Falls depended on her success.

“We’re booked from solid from about March to the end of September, usually. You got real lucky coming up at the end of the season or we mighta had to put you up in a tent.”  she laughed.

She pulled her pickup around to the back of the house and put it in park.  “So, I can set you up in a cabin if you want, but I’d have to get you some linens and wood for the fire.  Or you can just stay in one of the bedrooms in the main house.  Plenty of space and privacy.”

“Whatever’s easy. I don’t wanna put you out.”

“Ok, main house it is then.  Make yourself at home, take a look around if you like.  You can have the 2nd room to the right at the top of the stairs. I’m gonna make a quick run to the store, then go get dinner started.  We’ll eat about 7.  Someone should be home – if not, just make yourself comfortable.” 

“Thanks.  I appreciate the hospitality. Will someone hear me if I knock?”

“Not sure who’s here right now, but the door should be open.”

He looked at her surprised. Never a day in his life had he been anywhere where people just left their doors unlocked all day and allowed strangers to make themselves at home while they were gone.  Of course, before this week, Mickey had never really ventured beyond the state Illinois except for business trips where he stayed busy working and never socializing.

“You don’t lock your doors?” He asked shocked, making her laugh.

“No need really.  Ian can put a bullet through someone’s head in the dark with his eyes closed.  My brother Lip, well he might be small but he’s scruffy. He’d probably beat you within an inch of your life.  And Carl! He’d just as soon put a stick of dynamite up your ass and blow the shit out of you _and_ the house, literally, as he would to shoot you!”

Mickey laughed, “What about you?  What if they’re not home?”

“Who do you think taught them to shoot and fight like that?”  She gave a wink and shooed him to get out of the truck, “Don’t worry.  No one’s gonna shoot you.  The boys are all out.  My friend Vee might be here.  Just tell her I dropped you off and she won’t kill you.”  
  
With that, Mickey climbed from the truck and walked off toward the front door.  She watched as he walked away, that smooth, confident swagger making her mouth water and her thighs ache.  He turned, catching her stare and offered a wide grin, his blue eyes sparkling with humor as he walked into the house.

And with that last smile he had given her, she was gone.  Completely and totally fucking gone.  Her brothers had better not be assholes to him while he was there, because she was beginning to really like Mickey Milkovich, and she wanted him for herself.

***

“Who’s that upstairs?”  Lip opened the icebox and grabbed the bottle of milk, pouring a generous amount into his coffee.

“His name is Mickey.  Had a car accident on 34.  Carl’s gonna tow his truck back to the shop for him when Ian gets back tomorrow” 

“Is he a cop?”

“What? No! Why would you even ask that? No, he’s not a cop.  At least… I don’t think he is. Shit, I don’t know.” 

She thought about the way he had looked earlier as he walked into the house – no one with that much attitude and sweet sweet swagger would be a cop, right? Fiona stirred the pot on the stove then opened the oven door to take the roast out that had been cooking.  The house smelled divine.

“There’s a cop’s jacket hanging on his door.  He’s either a cop or a fucking gangster.”

“It’s not a cop’s jacket.  It’s just… a jacket. What’s it with you?  Everyone who comes into this town has to be a cop or a gangster to you.  Why are you so suspicious of everything?”

Lip looked at her and snickered, “Uh, maybe because the entire fucking town is running off illegal bootlegging and it’s my fucking _job_ to be suspicious – god knows you never are, and eventually it’s gonna come back to bite us in the ass if we’re not careful.”

“Well, my guess is that he’s just some guy on his way through who needed a place to stay because he hit a boulder on the road.” She handed Lip a stack of plates to set the table. “Carl said there were road crews already out there this afternoon trying to blast it off the road.”

“Good.  Then he won’t be here that long.” Lip said. 

“Jesus, Lip.  Give me a break.  We make our living off strangers coming to our town.  They stay in our house all summer long – this is nothing new.  Besides, he said he’d been staying down in Estes for a while, at the Stanley.  Must have money if he’s staying at the Stanley.”

Lip wasn’t budging.  He was giving her his “I still don’t trust him” tilted head look. 

“Jesus, there’s no talking to you. Why don’t you go round everyone up, dinner’s almost ready.”  She waved him off with her hand and continued setting the table.

As if on cue, Carl and Mickey both came walking into the kitchen.  Lip turned his suspicious gaze over to Mickey, giving him a once over. Mickey ignored him completely. In his line of work, that look was an every day greeting he’d grown used to – it no longer fazed him.

“Mickey, hi, take a seat. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Carl tossed his truck keys onto the counter and went for something a bit stronger than coffee in the cupboard below the sink. 

“Carl!”  Lip and Fiona said simultaneously as he pulled an unmarked jug out, filled with a deep amber liquid.

Mickey caught sight of it and his mouth watered knowing what it probably was. 

“What?  Fuck, settle down.  I’m sure he’s seen hooch before. Mickey, you want a drink, man?”  Carl asked.

Lip rolled his eyes and shook his head as he left the room. Fiona looked nervously at Mickey, waiting for his response.

“I could definitely use a drink, sure.” 

Fiona let out a breath and looked back at Lip.  _See,_ her eyes said, _not a cop._

Without voicing his response, she knew he was thinking, _yeah, but he could still be a fucking gangster._


	10. Cops, Gangsters, & Bootleggers

Mickey was surprised at the amount of noise coming from the kitchen, especially in a house this size.  How many fucking people did they have down there?  He looked at the clock on the nightstand – 5:48. _What the fuck?_   He wanted to close his eyes again, but the smell of strong coffee was filling the room, and the noisy voices didn’t seem to be dying down any time soon. He dressed, then headed down to see what all the excitement was about.

“So wait, you got a fucking real live gangster sleeping in your house?  Like Capone?”  That was Kevin. 

“No! Lip, stop saying he’s a gangster.”  Fiona smacked Lip across the shoulder, then filled all the half empty cups of coffee at the table before setting the pot back down on an iron wood stove in the corner.  It was one of the original pieces left in the house, and like all the other wood burning stoves in each of the bedrooms, its use was reduced to heating up the kitchen on a cold morning and to keeping the coffee warm.  Fiona opened the front of the stove and poked at the coals inside, leaving the door open to warm the chilly room.  Fall days may be warm, but fall nights were bitter cold in the mountains.

“Ok, well did anyone _ask_ him if he was a cop… or a gangster?  I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time we had one of them in this place, so what’s the big deal?” That was Vee. 

She walked over to the breakfast table with a pan of scrambled eggs and began scooping them onto a dish in a heap.

“The big deal is that we have three fucking shipments leaving town this week, four cabins full of whiskey out back, and half the men in town showing up in a few days to get it all ready.  Oh, and did I mention, AGAIN, that it’s all happening right outside our back door, and Fiona went and brought a stranger to the fucking house.”  Fiona rolled her eyes at Lip.  He always had to be so damn dramatic.

“Ok, so let’s just ask him.  When he comes down, just say, ‘hey buddy, are you a gangster?’ and if he says no, then you’ll know he’s a cop.” Kevin said, proud of the logical solution he’d come up with, earning a proud pat on his shoulders from Vee.

Mickey had heard this last part as he came down the back stairs into the room. 

“I’m not a gangster.”  He said flatly, not making eye contact with anyone in the room. 

“Oh hey!  Good morning!  Sleep well?”  Fiona reached for a new coffee mug, handing it over to him and pointing at the pot on the black stove behind them.  Her voice was higher and sweeter than everyone was used to hearing.  Lip looked over at her like she was ridiculous, and he shook his head at her obvious flirting.

Mickey looked around wondering why everyone was up and dressed so damn early in the morning.  His eyes landed on Vee who was moving to sit on Kevin’s lap now, her arm wrapped around his shoulders as she sipped her coffee.  Mickey raised his brows curiously = they sat there together so openly, as if the entire fucking world didn’t find the whole scene of a white man and a negro woman a little more than taboo.  

Vee caught the look he was giving.  She raised her brows and pierced her lips, daring him to say anything.

Mickey appreciated her boldness and smiled at her as he looked away.  After all, who the fuck was he to judge anyone for who they loved, right?

“Yeah, slept great, thanks.” He poured some coffee and spooned in some sugar before turning to see everyone in the room staring at him. 

He was not a morning person, and he was definitely not a 6 a.m. person. His attempt to be cordial quickly faded into a scowl as he looked back at them.

“What?”

Everyone turned back to face the center of the table, just as they had all been before he had walked in the room – except Lip.  Lip took a long sip of his coffee and continued watching Mickey over the rim of the cup.  Mickey’s glare didn’t waiver. Lip had been an asshole at dinner, so Mickey already had a pretty good idea he was gonna be an asshole the rest of his stay at the Gallagher mansion.

It was Vee who finally spoke up and addressed the great big blue-eyed elephant in the room, “Ok, so why don’t you come take a seat over here and tell us a little bit about yourself.  You know, like where are you from? What brings you to Gallway Falls… uh, I mean, aside from the car troubles and all.”

Mickey took a seat at the far end of the table, sipping the hot coffee and ignoring Vee’s question. He looked at Fiona and asked, “Got any of that bottle left from last night, for the coffee?” 

She smiled and pulled the jug out from under the sink, dropping a shot into Mickey’s cup. 

“Can everyone just give me a second to wake the fuck up before the interrogation?” he asked, glancing quickly at Vee. She bobbed her head and gave him a salty look.  He returned it, looking from her to Kevin as if she was the one who should be answering questions.

“Tell you what - I’ll answer a question for a question, two max. How’s that?”  Everyone hummed in agreement.  “First question.  Why the hell are you people up so damn early.  The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Work.  There’s a lot to get done today.” Lip answered, Fiona’s head nodding in agreement as she placed more food on the table.

“Ok.  Let’s eat. Give him a chance to wake up. We can talk after.”  Fiona said, placing the last of the dishes on the table.

Breakfast consisted of bacon, eggs, and chunky potatoes seasoned just perfectly.  Mickey ate until he was filled to the brim with food and spiked coffee, but he still hadn’t offered any information on who he was or where he’d come from. Finally, he stood to try to help clear the table, but Lip cleared his throat and looked at Mickey expectantly.

“Yeah, all right.”  He said, taking his seat again. “You already asked your first question.  I’m not a gangster.  My dad is.”  He said a bit ironically with a chuckle.  Everyone at the table chuckled as well and dismiss his statement to be some sort of joke.  The one thing Mickey had learned along the years was that if he laughed when he said his old man was a gangster, people seemed to think he was only joking.  That still held true apparently. 

Kevin spoke next, “So that makes you a cop then, right?”  That was question number 2.  Mickey looked at him and Vee again.

“My turn to ask a question, actually. Who are you two? I got the names – Kevin, Vee.  But you weren’t here when I went to bed were you?” 

Fiona jumped in to answer that question, “Oh Mickey, sorry.  This is Vee – Veronica – and her husband Kevin.  They live up the road.  They’re practically family.”

“Practically?  What’s with this “practically” bullshit?” Vee asked, giving Fiona a twisted look.

Lip caught the way Mickey was watching the two women interact. The way they joked with each other took him by surprise, and it would be a lie if he tried to say it wasn’t because of the color of Vee’s skin.  Lip caught Mickey’s surprise and challenged him, “You got a problem with any of that?”

Mickey eyed him as he took a sip of coffee.

“That’s three questions.” He said, setting his cup on the table, “And no, I do not have a fucking problem with that.  Love is love, right?”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Mickey in wonder – _love is love_.  He ignoring their stares and answered Kevin’s question instead.

“Not a cop either.”  He said.

Technically true… but not true.  He _was_ a Federal Agent, but _not_ a street cop.  He didn’t bust small crimes, or hand out traffic violations, or come to the aid in a domestic dispute. He hunted down the big players – the men who ran the brothels and gambling houses. The bosses who supplied dope and alcohol to the upper half of the East Coast.  Mickey sought out the untouchable criminals of the world, and he was usually pretty damn good at it.  He didn’t have time for petty offenses and the day to day work of a beat cop, so technically his answer was true. 

Everyone was still looking at him, waiting for more, but that was his answer.  Two questions, that’s what he agreed to, and that’s what he gave them.  That’s all they needed to know from him, right?  Fucking Gallaghers.  And… whatever the hell Kev and Vee’s last name was. Then Mickey offered a little more, because apparently the Gallaghers didn’t know when enough was enough.

“I… I had a recent death in my family back east.  Decided it was time to move on – thought I’d go see my sister in California, and ended up here instead.  That’s pretty much it.”  Again, technically all true. 

He waited to see what other questions they would throw at him, but suddenly they all seemed pretty bored with such simple details. They had expected and hoped for something more juicy, not just another traveler on his way through.

“Ok, good.  Not a cop, not a gangster.  Lip, do me a favor and go unlock the doors at the store for me, Jerry’s gonna stop by and keep an eye on things this morning…”  Fiona said.

Just like that, the conversation was over.  Mickey watched each of them go about their morning conversation, not giving him so much as a sideways glance as they cleared away the dishes.  All the excitement of him being either a gangster or a cop had faded away.

He was about to fade away back to his room when Fiona mentioned Ian once again.

“Ian’s gonna be back in a few hours.  You and a couple of the guys will need to be here to help unload supplies.  Lip!  Are you paying attention to me?  You need to be there to help, ok?”

“Relax. I heard you, Jesus.  I’ll be here.”

“Mickey,” Fiona said, looking at him again, “I called Sheila Jackson this morning.  She owns a boarding house at the end of the main road in town, and said she had some rooms available.  I can drop you there later if you’re planning on staying in Gallway.  It’s much more convenient, just a few blocks from town. Not that you’re not welcome here!” She quickly corrected, “It’s just that you’ll be able to get out and explore a bit over there, instead of being stuck here.  If you’re interested.” 

She really needed him out of the house before winter supply trucks started showing up.

Mickey nodded. The Gallagher house was only a mile or so off the main road, but being closer to town would make his stay a little more convenient.  “Sound’s good.  I’ll get my stuff together.”

“Ok, good.  We’ll leave in about 10 minutes.”


	11. Fucking Whorehouse Son of a Bitch

Sheila Jackson was a colorful woman.  Her hair was dyed a rich auburn red, and her lips and cheeks were a bright pink hue that Mickey had seen many of the women in the Chicago brothels wearing.  She wore a bright yellow dress with a red floral apron, wore a smile from ear to ear. 

When Fiona dropped mickey at the front of the boarding house, she’d simply said, “Good luck,” and now Mickey understood exactly what that meant. 

Sheila was a bubbling bottle of energy, immediately fawning over Mickey, touching his arms and commenting on his deep blue eyes the minute he walked through the door.

“The eyes are a window to the soul” she had said, then began to stare into his eyes unblinkingly as if she was searching deep inside of him for answers to the universe there. 

He pulled his head back, creasing his brows into a scowl and looking at her as if she’d lost her mind, which she only giggled at.  She pulled his arm and led him to a long hallway.

“I’m just thrilled that you’ll be staying here!  It gets so quiet in the fall with all the tourists gone, but on the plus side, you get the pick of the best rooms in the house.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

She opened the door to a large room at the back of the house. It had its own clawfoot tub near the windows and a small patio just outside of a private door.

“Normally this is the French bridal suite, but I’m going to set you up here since we’re having trouble with the broiler right now.  This room has a small wood stove over there that will keep you warm when the snow comes.  And don’t worry, I’ll bring you plenty of blankets to keep you snug as a bug at night.” 

Mickey looked out the window at the perfect blue skies and bright autumn day.  He was sure he’d be gone long before winter arrived.

“Hopefully I won’t be in your hair that long.  Just staying a few days.” He said, setting his suitcase and jacket near the bed.

“Don’t be silly. We’re expecting a storm this evening, or maybe tomorrow if the wind holds out. Here’s our meal schedule for each day,” She said handing him a small card with three times written on it and nothing else.

“You stay just as long as you like – I’m not expecting another rush of  people visiting for a few more weeks, since we’re in between seasons and all.” She said, as if he should understand what that meant.  “Linens are in that closet over there, and there is hot running water here with a private tub, so you enjoy a nice hot bath any time you like. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Is there any chance you have a safe here?  Someplace I can lock up some personal items?” Mickey asked.

She looked at his bags curiously and wondered what he could possibly have in two small bags that needed to be locked away.  “Why, yes actually.  Many of our guests have requested that.” She moved to the closet, pulling aside the linens to expose a wall safe with a key.  “You’ll be the only one with the key, so don’t lose it or we’ll have to call a locksmith to break it open, and that can get expensive.”

She turned to leave the room, “Dinner is served up at 6 p.m. sharp, but if you happen to be out and about, I’ll wrap it up for you and leave it warming on the stove.  You just holler if you need anything at all.”  And with that she was gone.

Once Mickey was sure she was back in the living room, he opened his bag to search for the guns. Unlocking the safe, he tucked the satchel of cash and the guns inside, then put the key into his front pocket, making sure it was tucked in deep where it couldn’t fall out.

By lunchtime, Mickey walked to three different shops and all up and down the main town road, enjoying the perfect warm fall day, but once he’d walked the length of the town, there wasn’t much else for him to do, but walk back to Sheila’s place.

How the fuck did people live like this, out in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do?  One of the shop owners had mentioned that most of the people in Gallway worked up in the mines, and didn’t come into town until the weekends rolled around. She said with most of the summer tourists gone, the town was pretty quiet these days.

“At least for a few weeks, between seasons.” She added.

Mickey was beginning to wonder what seasons everyone kept talking about.  A truck pulled up alongside of him as he headed back to the boarding house.  Carl Gallagher rolled down his window, sticking his head out to say hello, “Hey, Mickey.  You need a ride somewhere?”

“Nah, just enjoying the day. Trying to figure out what I’m gonna do for the next few days ‘til I get my truck fixed.” Mickey admitted.  “Is there a phone in this town that I can use?  I need to make a long distance call if that’s ok.  I can pay for it.”

“Yeah, back at the Outfitters.  Just let Fiona know. There’s also a Western Union set up over at the post office, if you need to send a telegraph.  They’re closed today though, postman is out of town.”

Mickey chuckled at the inconveniences of small town living.  The mechanic was out of town, the postman was out of town, the hot red head with the towing equipment was out of town. Basically, anyone he wanted to meet was out of town. 

He wondered if he’d be able to get a little privacy at the Outfitters to make his call.  It had been a week since he skipped out of Chicago or had been able to catch Caffrey at his desk.  Mickey needed to find out what was happening back in Chicago to see if it was safe for him to head home yet.

More than anything, Mickey needed to know what Sullivan was up to.  Had Caffrey told him Mickey was still alive or did he still suspect Terry’s men had done their job?  And what if Sullivan had gotten to Caffrey and fed him some bullshit line of Mickey going rogue?  That would mean everyone’s suspicions of him being a traitor and conveniently disappearing with state’s evidence had been correct.

He really hoped Sullivan hadn’t started spreading that lie.  Dead would be better.  Dead meant Terry still was none the wiser about what happened at the pier.  Dead meant Mickey had a chance at staying alive.  Dead he could actually live with.

Carl pulled him from that thought, “Ian should be back here in a few hours. He might already be back at the Outfitters if you want to check in there.  He’ll keep you busy, if you’re looking for something to do until your truck gets fixed.”

Ian.  The red head. Yes, he was definitely interested in finding Ian.  “Ok, yeah.  I’ll stop by there in a bit. Thanks.” 

By the time he’d made his way to the Outfitters store, Fiona said Ian had been there, but only briefly.  Now he was over at the Jackson boarding house trying to fix Sheila’s boiler before the snow came.

“What snow?  I keep hearing about snow, but it’s like 80 degrees out there right now.” Mickey asked.

Fiona gave an enthusiastic laugh, startling him at the outburst. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?  So, something to know about Colorado weather… if you dress for one season in the morning, you should prepare for at least one or more seasons before the end of the day.  Today you’re going to get Summer and Winter.  Who knows, tomorrow maybe you’ll get a sweet taste of Spring.  It’s always a crap shoot around here.  Either way, the snow is definitely coming.” 

She went behind the counter and grabbed some small parcels, passing them over the counter.  “You wanna do me a favor?  If you’re headed back to Sheila’s any time soon, can you drop these along the way?  Just some parcels and a couple of letters to go out.  They all go right here along the main road, so it should be pretty simple to find the addresses. Our postman is also our mechanic, Jimmy… who, as you know, is…”

“…Out of town.” Mickey finished.  “Yeah, sure.  Carl mentioned he was out of town. You sure you’re ok with me handling this stuff?”  
  
Fiona didn’t know him from Adam, so he was surprised she was so willing to hand over U.S. Mail so easily.  “It’s not like you can skip town if you decide to do something wrong” She said, as if stating the obvious… which she was.  He laughed and took the parcels and letters from Fiona. 

“I guess you have a good point there.  Carl also said you might have a phone I can use.  It’s long distance, but I can pay you.”

“Uh, normally I’d say yes, of course, but we’re having some trouble with the line.  I think the guys who were out working on that boulder you hit in the road messed with the phone cables.  It should be up and running again in a day or so.  Sorry.”

“Yeah, no problem. I got nothing but time, right?”  Mickey turned to leave.  She could see the boredom in his face.

“Hey Mickey?  If you’re looking for things to fill your time, I might be able to help.  There’s not a lot of touristy stuff to do around here right now, between seasons and all, but I’m sure Ian can use a hand.  You know, odd jobs and such, if you’re still looking for something to do.”

It wasn’t that Mickey wasn’t anxious to spend a little more time getting to know this Ian fella, but he was curious why everything seemed to keep pointing him in Ian’s direction.

“So, what’s the deal with Ian.  Carl said the same thing to me.  What exactly does he do around here?”

“Oh, well Ian leads all the mountain tours for our guests in the Summer Season.  Hikes, camping, rafting.  All that stuff.  Plus, in between seasons he does a lot of the odd jobs around town, so he’s usually pretty busy and can use a hand now and then.  Believe me, even if you just entertained Sheila long enough so she’ll leave him alone to work, that would be helpful.  Sheila can be a handful. I’d be happy to pay you for any work if you’re interested.  Might help pay for the repairs on your truck – good for both of us.”

Mickey nodded.  That was a good enough reason for him. “Yeah, ok.  Guess I’ll check in with Ian then.” He left on his trek to play postman, and to find the ever elusive Ian Gallagher.

***

The house smelled like fresh pie and cinnamon when Mickey arrived.  He could hear banging and pounding coming from the cellar door, as Sheila paced back and forth nervously behind the makeshift desk near the entrance. 

“Everything ok?” Mickey asked, looking around to see where the noise was coming from.

“No, I’m afraid I may have gotten in the way down there, and messed things up a little.  I was only trying to help, but…”

“ _MOTHERFUCKER_!”  They both looked at each other, Sheila’s eyes huge and nervous, Mickey’s amused at the unexpected outburst.  He let out a laugh. 

“That was Ian.” she stated, as if she needed to explain. 

Mickey was suddenly very interested in the cursing and pounding coming from the cellar. 

“He’s usually a really nice boy.  Very sweet and gentle, but…”

“ _Fucking whorehouse son of a bitch!_ ” They heard the loud clank of metal on metal as if he was beating something with a hammer, followed by heavy footsteps as he come up through the cellar door. Mickey couldn’t help but laugh as Ian came into view. 

His entire body was covered in black soot nearly from head to toe, so much so that it was almost impossible to see the pale white of his skin that Mickey remembered from the day before.  There was one bright red patch of hair sticking straight up in the air, while the rest of his head was covered in black. 

“I’ll be back!  I can’t fucking breath down there!” He brushed past, knocking Mickey hard in the shoulder and shoving him into the wall as he went out the front door.

“Oh, my goodness, Mickey!  Oh, my!  I’m so sorry!” Sheila exclaimed, reaching for Mickey as he caught his balance. “He’s just in a bad mood.  My my, I should probably check on him.”

She walked to the front door, watching as Ian stormed away, kicking the dirt as he went, and decided that maybe it was a better idea to leave him alone for a minute.  “Or maybe I’ll just let him take a walk.  Yeah, I think that’s a better idea.” 

She turned her attention back to Mickey who was still smiling from ear to ear as he watched Ian slam the gate closed as he left the yard. He had some spunk, that was for sure. 

“How about some pie?” Sheila offered, in hopes of some sort of apology for Ian’s rude behavior to her one and only guests.

“I like pie.”


	12. Just Like A School Girl

More than two hours passed before Ian came back.  Sheila was in the kitchen getting dinner ready to set on the table and Mickey had found his way into the parlor with a cold drink and was tapping away at the piano.  It had been years since he’d had a piano lesson – his grandfather had insisted he and Mandy take them when they first came to live with him.  Mickey had hated every minute of it, but since the day he moved from his grandfather’s house, he had missed having a piano to mess around on in the evenings. 

There were books of sheet music he played from at Sheila’s request, after she realized he could actually play.  Now he was just tinkling, playing freestyle, eyes closed, getting lost in each movement as his body swayed with the changing tune.  He was trained in classical music, Chopin, Beethoven, Bach, but the music he was playing was more reminiscent of Sergey Rachmaninoff with an occasional touch of modern razzmatazz mixed in there. 

He didn’t hear the door open when Ian come back or notice him standing at the edge of the parlor for five minutes, completely spellbound by the music and the dark-haired man before him.  Mickey hadn’t remembered anyone was in the house with him at all, to be honest. It was the first time in months he’d felt so at ease and carefree.   

“Oh, Ian, honey!  I didn’t know you were back.  Let me go set another dish for you at the table.” Sheila said, rushing back to the kitchen. 

Mickey turned to see the tall ginger standing at the doorway.  Ian had cleaned his hands and his face, and some of his hair, but for the most part his clothes were still soiled with black soot. Ian had barely glanced in Sheila’s direction a second before because he was so completely taken by the stunning stranger sitting at the piano in front of him.

“Hey.  Ian, right?”  Mickey stood up and walked toward him, offering his hand. “I’m Mickey. Milkovich. We sort of met earlier.  Well, not exactly met.  But I keep running into you around town.” Ian shook his hand but still hadn’t said a word, “Uhm. Your sister sent me over earlier to help you out, but…”

There were words coming out of Mickey’s mouth, but Ian was busy drinking him in – the perfect slope of his nose, the deep blue eyes that fell slightly at each corner, and those full, pink, freckled lips that the guy – Mickey, what a fucking beautiful name - seemed to keep biting at.  Ian’s eyes were glued to those lips as Mickey licked at them once more, sucking his bottom lip into a bite then smiling at Ian.  Ian realized Mickey’s hand was outreached for an awkward amount of time and finally grabbed for it, shaking it nervously. 

“Hi.  Ian.  Gallagher.”  He held on to Mickey’s hand even after he’d stopped shaking it, prompting another small grin from Mickey as he pulled his away. 

“Ok, boys, dinner is ready. Ian, this is Mickey…” Sheila paused as she noticed the boys looking at each other smiling.  “Ok, so it looks like introductions are all done.  Ian, I placed a towel on your seat so you don’t get it soiled… I hope that’s ok.”

Dinner was delicious.  The conversation consisted mostly of Sheila’s continuous babble, as each of the men nodded and gave the appropriate responses between bites.  Most of the time was filled with them trying to catch glances of the other without being caught.  Sheila was too caught up in her solitary conversation to notice.  By the time dessert rolled around, Ian had excused himself, saying he really needed to see about the boiler if it was gonna get fixed any time soon.  He’d brought some new parts and tools from the main house, promising her she wouldn’t freeze to death in the snow.  After he left the room, Mickey excused himself without dessert as well.

There were three oil lamps burning in the cellar casting a warm glow all around the area.  As Mickey descended the stairs he noticed the closest lamp hanging where Ian was working, its magic golden glow on his face making his already bright red hair appear as if it was actually on fire. Ian was stunning.  Effulgent. Even covered in soot. Mickey stood at the bottom of the stairs watching him for a second before clearing his throat for attention.

Ian looked up and froze for a second when he saw Mickey, rather than Sheila, standing there.

“Fiona told me you might be able to keep me busy while I’m in town.  Said I could help you out with this boiler.  We had one like this back at home. It was a real bitch every winter.  Might be able to help you get it running.”

“Sure, yeah.”  Ian moved over and pointed at some parts on the floor. “Almost done actually.  Just need to get these put in…”  Their hands grazed over each other as Ian handed over one of the parts, causing them to both pause and look up at the other awkwardly.  Ian swallowed hard. Mickey bit at his bottom lip and looked away as he took the part, feeling like a fucking idiot but not knowing how to stop.

“So.  What brings you to Gallway?” Ian asked.

“Car wreck.”  Ian looked up alarmed.  “Wasn’t a big deal.  Hit a fucking boulder on the road.” He snickered at how stupid that sounded all of a sudden.  “That sort of thing happen a lot around here?”

“Mountain life.  If it’s not a boulder, it’s a bear or a mountain lion.  Believe me, the boulder is the better option of all three.”  They both laughed, though Mickey wasn’t sure how serious he was being. “How long you staying?”  Ian’s voice sounded ridiculously anxious and hopeful and he didn’t even fucking care. 

The guy with the stunning blue eyes smiled at the sound of it and glanced up for just a second before answering.  “Hard to say.  I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere.” 

That was the truth.  Standing there with Ian, Mickey wasn’t even thinking about what had brought him here.  He was just suddenly fucking thankful for Mother Nature messing up his afternoon drive and pointing him in Ian’s direction.

Ian smiled back, his eyes sparkling a bit at Mickey’s words. They worked silently finishing the job quickly, then Mickey helped him carry his tools back to the truck. Sheila was out on the front steps to thank Ian for his help.

“Ok, I should go,” Ian said as he pulled out of her tight hug, “Do you have enough wood for the stoves if the boiler gives out tonight?”

“Yes, Mickey helped me brings some in earlier from the wood shed.  We’re all set here.”  Ian looked over at Mickey who was standing near the fence, and smiled.

“Good.  Well, if there’s a problem, Mickey can come get me and I’ll be happy to take another look at it.”  With that he headed toward his truck.  Mickey walked the few feet to the truck as Ian hopped into the seat, not wanting to leave just yet.  He was covered in soot and should be getting home to clean up, but he was racking his brain trying to think of any excuse to stay longer. 

“Were you able to get your truck back to town?”  Ian asked.

“Uh, I don’t think so.  Not yet.  Your sister said you had all the gear for that.”

Ian nodded his head, “Yeah, I guess I do. We’ll get it back here tomorrow, ok?”

“Yeah, that’ll work.”  They were both waiting for the other to keep talking, neither of them ready to say goodnight. Mickey looked up the street as a whirl wind picked up the leaves and swirled them around in a mini funnel along the road.

“So. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”  Ian asked. 

Ian pulled the door closed, leaning out the window and waiting for an answer.  The night air was still warm with the slightest breeze beginning to pick up, causing Mickey hair to fall into his eyes.  He brushed it back with one hand, settling it on the back of his neck for a moment.  Ian looked up at the dark sky before looking back at Mickey, trying to find anything more to say. 

“It’s supposed to snow tonight.” Ian said.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps telling me” Mickey answered.  He scratched the back of his neck and leaned against the white picket fence, smiling as he looked down the road. He’d never felt fucking shy a day in his life, but this red headed idiot in front of him, talking about the weather and looking at him the way he was, had his stomach doing flips like a school girl.  “How’s that even possible after how hot it got around here today?”

Ian laughed. Anyone not from Colorado really never understood how Mother Nature could be a little bipolar bitch when it came to the weather.  “Yeah, well, don’t be too surprised when you wake up to snow.  You stay warm tonight.”  He started up the truck.

“Will do. Tomorrow then.”  Mickey pulled his lower lip into his teeth, a tick Ian had been catching him do all night, and it did dirty fucking things to Ian’s dick every time Mickey did it.  He watched as Mickey released his lip and smiled, Ian offering a warm smile in return.

“K. Tomorrow then. G’night, Mick.” Then he drove away.


	13. No Driver. No Money. No Problem.

It had been more than a week since Colin’s body had been found at the pier and Hammer had gone missing with Terry’s money.  Correction – with Nitti’s money.  Colin had been buried with hundreds of men from the Outfit in attendance.  They hadn’t come out of respect for Terry as much as to pay their obligatory condolences. Terry wasn’t known for his large circle of friends.

By all appearances, the Milkovich crew was dealing with Colin’s loss like anyone might expect, but the truth was, things had deteriorated to the point of chaos inside Terry’s crew.  Every day Tommy got word of some hot head going off the edge and getting into a brawl.  There was fighting among their men, and men looking for fights outside the Family too.  It took everything for Tommy to keep an all-out civil war from breaking out among the men, while Iggy and Tony did what they could to keep Terry in line. 

Keeping Terry in line was no small feat.  He was a wild dog on any given day, but now he was behaving more like a caged lion desperate for blood.  Days and nights were filled with his tirades against his own men, as he’d become suspicious of everyone around him, including at times his own sons. Iggy, Tony, and Tommy were really the last three men Terry truly had on his side – And truth be told, it was really down to only two men,

Iggy had been questioning his loyalty to Terry ever since he’d found out about the hit he put on Mickey.  He still hadn’t told Tony.  There was more than a ten-year difference between Tony and Mickey.  Tony had already been working the streets when Mickey was still learning to tie his shoes.  They didn’t share the same bond that Colin and Iggy had with Mickey, so there was no way to know if Tony had known about the hit or not.  He was more his father’s son than any of the others, and next in line to take over the crew if anything happened to Terry, so Iggy stayed quiet and carried that grief himself.

Even Tommy seemed to have let it go already.  Every day that went by Iggy waited for word on where Hammer may have headed.  Whether Terry approved it or not, Iggy planned on going after him the minute they located him.  What Iggy didn’t expected was to be handpicked for the job.

“Iggy, I need to see you.  Muse, you too.”  Tommy said, nodding for them to follow him into the den.

The two men had been sitting in the living room passing an unusually quiet evening.  Tony had taken Terry out for the night to a brothel on the north end of town.  It had been Tony’s suggestion to get Terry out for a while to allow the guys in the house a few hours of peace.  They had tried bringing Svetlana and a few of her girls to the house to appease Terry, but that turned into a night of screaming and crying women running from Terry’s den when one of them had been dumb enough to bring up Colin. 

_“I can see where your son gets his equipment” she had muttered._

_“Who the fuck are you talking about?” Terry growled._

_“The thick blonde, Calvin, Colin, something like that.  Don’t worry… I like a little father/son action.  Maybe we can all spend time together with a few girls if you like.”_

That had been the end of that idea.  Within minutes the men downstairs were running for Terry’s door, pounding for him to open up while screams and crashes emerged from the other side.  It had been Svetlana who was finally able to get to the door, half clad in lingerie as red as the blood dripping from her nose. She hadn’t even bothered to say anything.  Just walked straight for the stairs screaming profanities in Russian back at them. The other girls came running out behind her, half dressed.  That had been the last of any visitors to the Milkovich house.

Iggy and Muse took a seat in the high back leather chair.  Tommy took his time pouring all of them drink at a bar, weighing his next words carefully before he spoke.  He’d been trying to decide what they would do if they figured out where Hammer had gone, and once word came back that Colin’s car had been found in Colorado, Tommy knew exactly what needed to be done:  Iggy needed to be the one to go get him. 

Tommy and Tony had talked at length about this before going to Terry to convince him.  Tony didn’t think Iggy was the right guy for the job – “He’s too fuckin’ soft. Something’ll go wrong or he won’t be able to finish the job.” He’d said. 

Tommy didn’t bother explain why he was confident Iggy was the right person for this job.  Like Iggy, Tommy wasn’t sure how much Tony knew about the hit on Mickey, but he was sure there was no love loss between Tony and Mickey.  Tommy was sure Iggy was the right person to finish this job because he was emotionally invested; he wanted to avenge not just Colin’s death, but Mickey’s as well. 

“He’s not soft.  Besides, with all the shit going down on the streets, do you really want him here in the middle of it?  He might be careless at times, but he wants Hammer as much as any of us – Colin was his brother too.  But here, with this … war.  _Fuck_.” 

Fuck was right.  Whether anyone in the Family wanted to admit it or not, there was an all-out war about to break out, and Iggy was more of a hinderance in Chicago than he would be out on the road.  He would be safer and more productive hunting down Hammer, even if it turned out to be a goose chase.

“We’ll send someone with him.  Don or Mike.”

Tony thought about it.  Iggy was better off outside of the city right now.

“Send Muse.  And you tell Muse to make sure Hammer feels the fuckin’ pain before they put a bullet between his eyes.  You got it?”  Tommy nodded. He glanced up the stairs where Terry had been meeting with another of the Bosses for over an hour. 

“You want to tell him, or should I?”  Tommy asked. 

Tony let out an exhausted sigh.

“We’ll tell him together.  Later. Then I’ll get him out of the house so Muse and Iggy can get out tonight without Terry getting in the way.” 

It was hard fucking work keeping Terry in line. Tommy didn’t understand how the other Bosses even continued to tolerate him, but they did.  He assumed it had something to do with Terry’s connections to Capone all those years. Terry had never been afraid to get his hands dirty, and Capone had shown his gratitude for it.  But now Capone was gone, and the other bosses were growing tired of Terry.  It was only a matter of time before his crew was cut off completely. No one knew what would come next if that happened.

Tommy put the crystal stopper back into the whiskey decanter and handed Iggy and Muse their drinks without bothering to take one for himself.  

“Got a call this morning from Colorado State Police. They found Colin’s car. Said some kids claimed it was sitting on the side of a road someplace, so they took it for a joyride.  Crashed it into a pond or something. Anyway, the cops traced the registration.  When I asked about the driver, they said there wasn’t any other information. No sign of foul play aside from the kids taking it. No driver. No money. Nothing but the car.”

Iggy set his glass down on the desk, while Muse took a long drink that burned the back of his throat.

“So, what’s next?”  Iggy asked.

“You two are leaving.  Tonight. Get out there to see what you can find. My guess is Hammer got as far as the Rockies and decided it was the right place to dump the car.  He could have continued south or gone further west.  We have eyes in Arizona, and all over the west coast, so those probably weren’t his first choices.”  Now Tommy reached for his glass and took a quick sip.

“He mighta gone North.  There’s fuck-all in Wyoming, Nebraska. He’d be safe up there for a while.”  He took another long drink before continuing, “My guess is he’s someplace in Denver. Just enough activity there to keep him off the radar and happy for a few months while he waits out the winter.  We don’t really have anyone out there that might recognize him on the street, or even care about him for that matter.  Yep.  That’s my guess. Denver.”

Iggy stood up and started heading for the door, “Then let’s fucking go!  Now!”

Tommy shook his head, “Sit Down. Fuck, Iggy, I don’t have time for you to start flying off the fucking handle right now, so just sit your ass down and let’s go over this.”

Two hours later Iggy was pumping gas into the beat-up sedan Tommy had insisted they take.  It was reliable enough to drive cross country without being too conspicuous.  Muse was driving, taking his sweet fucking time about it too, in Iggy’s opinion. 

“Don’t wanna get nabbed by a copper, do ya?  That’s why Tommy gave me the keys, and not you, asshole.” He’s said when Iggy started yelling at him to _go fucking faster_. 

They would tag team the drive, sticking to the back roads and blue highways, and stopping where ever there was a town with gas, food, or a bed, just so they could inquire about Hammer passing through. Tommy told them to give it a solid 3 days for the trip – he didn’t want them to miss a single clue if there was one to be found.  If Hammer was still in Colorado – hell, no matter where Hammer was, it wasn’t like he could go much further without them catching up – so being thorough was key. 

That first night in the car was a bitch. It was bitter cold and they didn’t find out until an hour outside of Chicago that the heat was never gonna kick on.  Iggy planned on making his discomfort felt as long and as loud as possible for the entire trip.  He’d be lucky if Muse didn’t put a bullet through the middle of his eyes before this whole trip was done.


	14. She Might Be Crazy or Just Insane.

Just as everyone had predicted, the storm moved in overnight with winds howling like a son of a bitch, shaking the windows of Mickey’s room and pulling in a freezing cold draft.  Mickey got out of bed, dressed only in boxers and an undershirt and shuffled over to pull the drapes closed against the draft. He mulled about in the darkness until his hand landed on some kindling and wood for the stove. After several attempts to get it lit, the fire finally began to burn. He stood with the stove door open a few minutes longer, soaking up the heat, letting his mind wander through the days events.

_G’night, Mick._

He imagined Ian saying those words over and over, trying to hear his the exact inflections of his voice again. Normally anyone calling him Mick rubbed him the wrong way, but it didn’t sound half bad falling off of Ian’s tongue. It actually sounded so fucking sexy.

Mickey smiled in the dark, but a sudden shiver went down his spine as he heard those words again, “ _G’night, Mick…”_ followed by a ghost memory from his dream days before, _“come for me…”_

He hadn’t thought of that dream in over a week, but the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that the voice in his dream had been Ian’s.  The fire red hair, the grip around his waist, the whisper in his ear, “ _Come on, baby… come for me_ …”

Mickey crawled back under the covers again, completely oblivious now to the howling wind that woke him earlier. It was the memories of Ian now keeping him awake. He reached below the layers of blankets and rubbed at his semi hard dick – thoughts of a certain red head filling his head. 

Mickey spread his thighs open and began to pull rhythmically at his dick, twisting his wrist over the head just so, then moving slowly down the length of his shaft and back up again. He thumbed at his slit, spreading the precum, lubricating each smooth move as thoughts of Ian moved him closer to the edge. 

God, he was so fucking gone on this guy and he’d barely spent more than two hours with him, but he just couldn’t wait to see him again. 

*

The windows rattled as fresh snow came in almost sideways with the wind. The fireplace blazed with three fresh logs, warming the room to a comfortable temperature. Ian’s pushed the blankets off of him, then sat up to take off the cotton shirt and pants he was wearing. Perhaps one log in the fireplace would have been enough, but he loved a big fire – and sleeping naked.

It was well past one in the morning and Ian hadn’t fallen asleep yet.  Thoughts of that dark-haired beauty moving beneath him had kept him up late.  He tried reading to get his mind off Mickey, but found himself several pages into a story he hadn’t been paying attention to.  He took a walk around the dark house, then sat on the front porch with a blanket wrapped around him for a while, but the entire time, all he wanted was to have Mickey sitting there beside him.

Mickey’s blue eyes and cool smile were haunting him. When he finally tried to fall asleep, Ian imagined those eyes looking up at him as he pushed deep inside of Mickey, making him moan and move beneath him. There was no two questions about it – Ian was fucking gone!

Just the idea of Mickey was intoxicating, and Ian fucking knew the definition of intoxicating! His family produced one of the best whiskeys east of the Rocky Mountains – but Mickey… Wow!  Mickey left him feeling weak and shaky just at the thought of him.  Ian lay naked on his bed, jerking himself off to the thought of Mickey beneath him. He closed his eyes and practically felt Mickey’s thighs as they wrapped themselves tight around his waist and saw Mickey biting at his lip every time Ian pushed deeper. A guttural groan escaped Ian thinking about this man he just had to have.  

*

Mickey’s dick was thick and swollen, aching for relief.  He sucked two fingers then reached down and slipped them into his ass as his other hand continued to pull at his dick.  He pulled his leg up to his chest, lifting his ass of the bed so he could press his wet fingers deeper. Thoughts of Ian inside and on top of him spurred him on, electric shocks waves tingled up his spine and into his legs as his fingers hit his prostate again and again. With a deep satisfied moan, he finally let go, allowing the hot cum to spurt from his dick onto his stomach as he sucked in a deep breath. He worked himself slowly through the last of the orgasm, milking every last drop before letting go of the breath he’d been holding.  

Exhausted and finally ready to sleep, Mickey dropped his leg back onto the mattress, thighs open wide in the warm room, and lay with his soft dick still under his hand. He breathed out two words that tasted sweeter on his lips than he had imagined… _Fucking_ _Ian._

_***_

The next morning Mickey walked into the dining room just before 8 a.m., bleary eyed and still a little tired from his sleepless night.  Sheila was already setting the table for breakfast with music playing from a small radio in the kitchen. 

“Oh!  Good morning, Mickey! I hope you slept well.  That wind, boy oh boy, it kept me up into the early hours. But look at you, all spiffy and looking sharp.”

He glanced down at his basic attire of jeans and a button down and grinned helplessly. As rambunctious as Sheila was, she was generous with the compliments. Mickey wasn’t used to being complimented, but coming from her, they seemed innocent and genuine and it made him smile.

“I made us some strong coffee this morning to put a real kick in your pants if you need it.”  She held up a little silver creamer along with a second jar that looked like it contained the same hooch the Gallaghers had back at their place. Now that was Mickey’s kind of coffee!

“Morning.” He replied simply, deciding there was really no need to say more to her long winded greeting.  With Sheila, one only needed to be an open ear to her constant rambling and eccentric habits to earn her affection.  With Mickey one only needed to keep their questions to a minimum and give him a little space to win him over.  So far they seemed to find the right balance for one another.

Mickey noticed there were three place settings at the table.  As far as he knew he was the only guest in the house at the moment. 

“Did someone else check in after I went to bed last night?” he asked.

She followed his gaze toward the place settings.

“Oh, no. Ian’s here.” She said matter-of-factly, then pointed toward the front door. “He stopped in early to make sure the broiler was still running. He’s out front shoveling the snow off the walk. What a sweet boy, he’s always watching out for everyone, taking care of all those little jobs that can be just too much for a single lady like me.” 

She continued placing plates of food on the table and rambled on a bit more.  “You know, I used to be married.  I was married a long time.  I have a daughter too – her name is Karen.  She’s back in Idaho, all grown up now.  Anywho, her dad – my husband – died about fifteen years ago.” 

She looked up directly into Mickey’s eyes and said the next part without blinking or any sign of emotion, “I killed him.” 

She could see Mickey’s mouth drop open slightly at the statement as he tried to register what she’d said, then she laughed. 

“Oh, not like murdered him!  Oh no, nothing like that.  Well, not exactly.  See, he was sick a long, long time.  Chances are he probably wasn’t going to make it another six months – a year at best.  He used to beg me every day and every night to put him out of his misery.  He’d say, ‘Sheila, if you love me at all, just let me die.’”

She continued placing coffee cups, and silver onto the table as she spoke, “So one day, in the midst of winter - gets real cold up there in Idaho, and the ice on the lake gets thick enough to drive on - anyway, one day he says he wants to go ice fishing one more time before he dies.  But I can tell.  I can see by the way he’s looking at me that he really doesn’t want to come back.  This is the way he’s choosing to go out, I tell myself.  So, I nodded and told him I would get some food packed up for him.”

She stopped talking now and sat in one of the chairs, playing with the hem of her apron as her eyes wondered back into a memory.  A smile flit across her face briefly as a picture of her frail thin husband kissing her goodbye came to mind. 

“He said to me, before he left, ‘if I don’t come back, there is a key in my top drawer in the bureau.  Take it down to the bank and open up the safety deposit box.’  Well imagine my surprise.  I didn’t even know we had a safety deposit box. I mean, what could we possibly own that was so valuable it needed to be locked away?  Anyway, I got to thinking, maybe it was like a hidden treasure – gold and silver coins, or jewels he got from his grandparents.”

Her face lit with the memory of excitement she must have felt thinking there was a treasure waiting at the bank.  “Suddenly, the idea of him dying wasn’t so bad, you know? I mean, he wasn’t sad about it, and to be quite honest, we weren’t the happiest couple in the world, so if he died and I ended up with a fortune, everyone would be happy, right?” 

She sat silently for a long time, waiting for Mickey to agree.  He sat there looking at her like maybe she’d lost her fucking mind, but anxious to hear how the story panned out.  After another minute of her not saying a word, he finally asked,

“So… What?  Did you kill him? Rat poison?  Drown him on the lake?  How’d he die?”  That wasn’t the cop or the FBI agent talking.  That was just Mickey Milkovich, Chicago South Side thug looking to hear the end of a weird fucking story.

“Huh?”  Sheila asked, a look of confusion on her face until she realized what he was implying.  “Oh my goodness!  No!  No, that wasn’t how he died.  That was just something he really wanted, you know. I considered it though – I mean for his sake.  I could have easily put some rat poison into his sandwiches for him, to make it easier, you know, for him to die.  I didn’t.  He ended up living about a month, and died peacefully in his sleep one night. But before he went, he spent that last month telling me I was killing him.  Said I never shut up long enough for him to get any rest, and I was driving him mad, and it was killing him.”  She laughed at that as though it was the funniest part of it all.

“Anyway, he overdosed on morphine one night when I wasn’t paying attention.  Left a note telling me he was tired of being sick and reminded me about the safety deposit key.  He’d left a gold watch from his dad, and a few old photos of his mother in a box at the bank, along with a life insurance policy.  It didn’t pay very much, but it was enough to give some money to Karen so she could start her life with her new husband, and a bit left over for me.  I moved here to Gallway that same year.  I’ve been here ever since.”

Sheila stood up as if the entire conversation had simply been about sharing her favorite bread pudding recipe, and walked off to the kitchen leaving Mickey sitting there wondering what the hell just happened. He wasn’t sure if she was insane or just fucking crazy.

“Can you call Ian in?  Let him know breakfast is ready if he’s hungry.”  She secured the tie on her apron, then began bringing dishes filled with food to the table.

He shook his head at the weirdness of it all, then turned to walk out onto the patio, watching as Ian shoveled the sidewalk about twenty feet outside of the yard.  Mother Nature surely was bipolar, just as he’d been told.  When he’d gone to bed last night, the temp was still about 65 degrees and warm for a fall evening, but this morning it was bitter cold with a good four inches of fresh powder on the ground, but the sun was already coming up bright over the mountain ridge.  Mickey went down the front steps with his arms crossed against the cold, squinting against the sunlight as he watched Ian work. 

Ian was cleaned up nicely compared to the day before.  His coal black Levi’s had been traded for a pair of clean Levi’s, along with a short sleeved green shirt.  The only thing he wore against the cold weather was a knitted beany cap and a pair of leather work gloves.

“Hey - Ian!”  Ian looked up from his work and smiled brightly at the sight of Mickey. He stood up tall, leaning slightly on the shovel he was holding. 

From where Mickey stood, Ian was drenched in rays of morning sunlight coming down through the trees. Tiny specks of frozen glitter floated through the air between them, and the sight of Ian with his fiery bright red hair, his chest rising and falling with each labored breathed that left streams of steam in the cold morning air, and the look he was giving Mickey, simply took his breath away.

“Mornin’, Mick.  Sleep well?” 

Mickey ducked his head a bit so Ian wouldn’t see him grinning at the memory of his nighttime activities, but he could feel the blush creep up the back of his neck.  He peeked back up through black lashes.

“Yeah, sure.”  Mickey answered, biting his lip and smiling back at Ian. He gave the slightest nod of his head toward the house. “Sheila said to tell you breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry.”

Ian looked at the last of the snowy sidewalk, deciding it could wait, then headed to the steps where Mickey was waiting.  He kicked his boots gently against the bottom step to clean off the snow and set his shovel against the house.  He dusted the silvery snow from his thighs, then removed his gloves, doing all of this slowly so that he could take every extra second to steal glances at Mickey in the light of the day – to really drink him in.  And drink him in he did. Mickey stood there looking back, a shit eating grin on his face as he bit his fucking lip, knowing it had to be driving Ian crazy. 

“I could eat.” 


	15. Already Gone

“You boys behave out there.  Don’t go getting into any trouble today.”  Sheila waved them off at the front gate as Ian tossed the lunchbox she had given them into the cab of the truck.

“’S she always so-”  Mickey tried to find the word.

“Annoying, talkative, strange, weird…”

“Was gonna say ‘happy,’” Mickey laughed, “but yeah, all those other words too.”

“Yeah, we’re all pretty sure she’s nuts, but she’s just about the nicest person you’ll ever meet, so it’s a trade-off, I guess.” 

The Outfitters was less than a mile up the road, but Ian took his time driving, watching Mickey from the corner of his eye as Mickey took in the townspeople opening up their shops for the day.

“So, where are all the people?”  Mickey asked.

“Uh, depends on what you mean by ‘all the people.’  There’s a person.  There’s another one.  Can you see them?” Ian joked as he pointed out a few folks walking nearby.

“Funny, asshole.  I meant, the town sign I saw coming in said you had like a thousand people here, but I’ve seen maybe 50 at most since I got here.  Where is everyone?”  Ian pulled the truck around the back of the shop, turning off the engine but not getting out yet.  He turned to face Mickey, not wanting their short time alone to end so quickly before the business of the day got under way.

“Let me think.  You sure that sign said a _thousand?_   That seems like a lot.” 

Mickey furrowed his brows in confusion, “Doesn’t your family run this fuckin’ town?  How do you not know how many people you have here?”

Ian gave him a humorous grin, “Yeah, Mickey, I know how many.   We’re actually more like 600.  Maybe 650.  I think the sign was made back when there were still a lot more mining families here.  A lot of them are gone now – went off to find work when some of the mines shut down and the country went to shit.” 

“Ok, so then where are the other 600 people?”  Mickey pushed. It was fucking freezing sitting in the cold truck, but like Ian, he also wanted this time alone with him to talk. 

Ian eyed him suspiciously for a moment, just to mess with him. “You a cop or something?”

What was it with everyone asking if he was a cop? 

“Why does everyone around here ask me if I’m a cop?” Mickey moved to open his door.  Ian reached out and put his hand on Mickey’s arm to stop him. 

“Wait, no, don’t go.  I was only messing around. I didn’t mean anything by that.” Mickey settled in his seat. “Just thought it was funny, you know – “ _where are all the people!”_ – like it’s some town secret that they all went missing because we murdered them and hid the bodies or something.”

Mickey’s mind went right back to Sheila’s conversation about murdering her husband.  The look on his face went from What the Hell to _What the Fuck!_ in a second.

“Well I wasn’t fuckin paranoid before, but now I am.” Mickey said.  “The fuck are you even talking about?”

“Nothing!  Really, I swear.  I just… I read too many murder mysteries, and…”  Ian was flustered now, trying not to dig a deeper hole with his not so funny joke.  “It’s just – You were asking questions and I thought it was funny… the joke about murdering people, because I guess it would be a perfect place to do that, you know – murder half a town, but we didn’t. I swear. And also because we don’t really have any cops here, you know,  Well, there’s the county Sheriff who comes up now and then to go camping or fishing up at the lake, but that’s about it.  Then there’s my brother Lip who’s really just sort of an asshole and takes it upon himself to police everyone who comes here, but...” 

Now Ian was just babbling nervously, but Mickey’s What the Fuck face had changed from utter shock to slightly entertained at Ian’s flustered state.  He tried to suppress the grin on his face as Ian over explained himself. 

“… and that’s all, I swear, it was a joke.  So.  Yeah. Back to your question though – they’re probably all at work.  Middle of the week, plus it’s still technically a mining town, so most folks have cabins up the hills, closer to the mines.”

Crickets.

Mickey finally gave in, shaking his head a little and grinning at the blubbering idiot.  “Coulda just said that the first time I asked.”  He looked at the back door of the shop and shivered involuntarily in the cold. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.  You must be freezing – let’s go inside.”

And like that, Ian’s ten minutes of extremely awkward peace and quiet time with Mickey came to an end.

Fiona was in the back room packing or unpacking boxes – Mickey couldn’t tell which in the total chaos of merchandise tossed around the floor.  She smiled as the boys walked in, standing up tall and wiping the dust and sweat from her forehead in hopes of making herself more presentable to Mickey.

“Morning, Mickey!  Want some coffee?”

“ _Morning Ian, good to see you_ _too_.  Oh Hi Fiona! Yes, I’d love some coffee! I’ve been shoveling snow all morning and I’m freezing my ass off.” Ian said, as he came in unnoticed.

“Oh, hi Ian. It’s still colder than shit in here too – we need some coal for the stove when you get a chance.”  Fiona said.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the bucket and a pair of gloves, then headed out back to the coal shed wondering why she hadn’t grabbed any herself on the way in.

“Mickey, how is the Jackson House treating you?  Sheila’s a great cook, don’t you think?” She asked, now giving him her full attention. 

It seemed like every opportunity she had to sit and talk with him, one of her brothers had to be there to get in the way, so she took the few minutes now while Ian as out back.

“Yeah, good cook.  She’s pretty chatty for one person, so it feels like I’m back at your place with a table full of people.”

“Yep, that sounds like Sheila, alright. She has a story for everything and she’s happy to tell you all of them.  She tell you the one about how she killed her husband yet?”  Mickey looked up at Fiona and chuckled.

“Just heard that one before breakfast today.” He answered.

“Yeah, well, don’t believe a damn thing she says.  The details of that story change with every person she tells.  You know what I think?  I think she actually did kill him, and it helps her relieve some guilt by admitting it the way she does, over and over again.”

Mickey’s eyes widened at what she’d said. 

“Oh don’t worry.  She’s harmless. Haven’t had too many guests go missing from her place.”  She joked. “Even if she did kill him, it was probably with the best intention. Nicest lady I’ve ever met, as long as you don’t get on her bad side.”

Ian was back filling the wood stove with coal to stoke the fire and putting fresh logs on top of them.  Fiona went to the front desk and began rattling off work orders for the day.  There was a racket coming from Jerimiah’s chimney – probably squirrels.  Some gutters on two of the shops in town that needed to be cleared out.  Mr. Marconi couldn’t get his truck started and with Jimmy out of town, Ian was the next best bet to making it happen. Oh, and of course, Mickey’s truck still needed to be towed back into town.  She handed him the list mindlessly, then looked back at Mickey.

“So, what are your plans while you’re here?  Give any more thought to what I mentioned yesterday?”  Ian looked at her curiously, wondering what she and Mickey had discussed. 

“I did.  I still need to find a working phone though.  Kinda need to check in and find out how much time I have to spend here before I offer to help out.” 

Mickey caught the disappointing look that crossed Ian’s face when he mentioned the possibility of leaving.

“Not in any hurry. Just need to make sure everything’s ok, you know.”  He added.

“Of course, yes, but the lines are still down here.  Maybe Ian can run you up to the house and you can use our phone there.”

Mickey knew that was a better idea.  The Outfitters offered little or no privacy, and he needed privacy for the call he was making.

“Sounds good. Once I get that call squared away -” he looked at Ian, “I’m all yours.”

Ian looked between him and Fiona, wondering what that meant.

“Oh, I asked him if he would be able to help you with that to do list before it gets out of control.  Well, _more_ out of control.”

Ian couldn’t hold back a grin as he tucked his head and nodded.  “Good.  Sounds good.  Well, let’s get at it then.” 

He nodded toward the door and Mickey started walking out.  Ian was still standing next to Fiona as Mickey walked away. 

She looked at Ian and whispered so only he would hear her, “Damn, that boy is fine!”

Ian had a huge smile on his face as he watched Mickey walk out the back door. Everything about that man was dripping in swagger and testosterone and turned Ian the fuck on.

“Yeah he is.  I’m keeping him.” He replied, before running off to catch up with Mickey.

Fiona stood there astonished.  “What??  Wait, Ian…no no…”   But he was already gone.


	16. Later, Firecrotch

The phone rang five, six, seven times.  Mickey was about to hang up, when Caffrey’s voice came through the line, “Special Agent Caffrey.  How can I help you?”

Mickey knew this call was way overdue, and Caffrey was probably beginning to shit himself trying to figure out if Mickey was collaborating with the Outfit or not.  The truth was, Mickey still wasn’t sure who else might have been in on this.  Caffrey could just be playing it off to find out where Mickey was hiding.  Either way, right now Mickey had to trust someone.  He decided he’d give Caffrey just enough to work with, without letting on to his location. 

“Hey, it’s Milkovich.”  There was a brief silence as he heard Caffrey close his office door. 

“Mickey, where the fuck have you been? You called me more than a week ago, claiming Sullivan tried to have you killed, then up and disappeared without a trace. What the hell is going on?”

“I need to talk fast, so get a pen and paper so I don’t have to repeat this, ok?” Mickey said, taking control of the call before Caffrey could really sink his teeth in.

Mickey ran through the details as best as he could, starting with him and Sullivan out at the warehouse where Sullivan bitched all night about being starving, then conveniently disappearing just minutes before Hammer showed up at the warehouse.  He told Caffrey what had gone down with Hammer, and how Colin had shown up just in the nick of time. He left out the parts about shooting Hammer between the eyes or putting his body in the lake.  He knew there had been no choice at the time, if he wanted Terry to believe Hammer had killed both Colin and himself, but admitting that to Caffrey could likely end with Mickey in a jail cell, or at the hands of his father if Caffrey was working with him.  Mickey also slipped over the minor detail of the ten grand he found in Colin’s trunk.  Some things best kept a secret for the time being, until Mickey could figure out his next step.

He finished up telling Caffrey about the drive he’d taken past his apartment that night, finding his car and very likely Sullivan there as well.  

“I need someone you trust to go check my place.  Find out why he was there.” Mickey said.

“We’ve already been there, Mickey.  Everyone’s been looking for you for a week.  At first, Sullivan said you were out sick, but after you called me the next day I had one of the guys go out to your place to check things out.  He said everything looked pretty normal, no sign of struggle or forced entry, except…”

“Except what?” Mickey asked.

“Wait,” Caffrey said, suddenly piecing together something Mickey had said earlier. “Why were you and Sullivan out at the warehouse anyway?  You told me you had plans with some friends that evening.” Caffrey asked.

There was a genuine tone of voice to that question, clearly indicating what Mickey had hoped to be true – Caffrey never sent them to the warehouse.  He didn’t know anything about the hit, but Mickey had to be sure.

“The fuck do you mean why?  Because _you_ sent us there?  Sullivan called and said you needed us out there to find those missing file boxes by morning.” 

“No I didn’t.”  Caffrey stated. “The boxes were found at your apartment, Mickey. Johansson found them the day he went looking for you.”

“Son of a bitch.  Sullivan.”

“Yeah.  Sullivan.”  Caffrey repeated.   “Where are you now?”

Mickey didn’t answer. 

“Mickey, did you hear me?  Where are you?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Listen, I know I should tell you that, but…”  _But what if I can’t trust you_ , still sat on the edge of Mickey’s tongue.

“What if you can’t trust me?”  Caffrey offered.  “Yeah, ok.  I get it.  Are you at least someplace you can lay low for a few days without being seen?”

“Yeah, I got that covered pretty well.  Hey listen, what’s Sullivan saying in all this?”

“Nothing. He’s been here every day, sweating it out at his desk, acting like he’s genuinely concerned about you.  He never mentioned the warehouse when we talked.”

Mickey wondered how long it would be before Sullivan broke. One way or the other, Sullivan was going to eventually run.  Caffrey knew the truth now, and if Terry found out Mickey was still alive, he’d be sending someone for Sullivan next.  

“Are you gonna ask him about it?” Mickey inquired.

“Nah. I think I want to see how he lets this play out. Everyone’s concerned about you, but maybe I’ll hint that I got word you were visiting family or something.  By the way, you got any family that’s _not_ in the fucking Mob?” Caffrey chuckled.

“Yeah, a sister in California.  Sullivan knows her.  I don’t want him anywhere near her though.”  Mickey warned.  

He was willing to deal with whatever hell was coming his way, but Mandy needed to stay out of it.  That was why he’d sent her to away, to give her a clean start without all this bullshit.

“Yeah, ok.  I’ll figure something out.  Don’t worry.”

“One more thing.  What’s going on with Terry’s crew?”  Mickey asked.  More than anything, he needed to know that they still thought he was dead.  As long as they thought Mickey was dead, he was safe.

“Ah shit.  All hell’s breaking loose since Colin got shot.  I put a few guys on them after I talked to you last. Turns out Colin’s car was found out west just a few days ago.”  Caffrey knew Mickey had been driving that car even though Mickey had never come right out and said it.  “I’m pretty sure they sent someone to go check it out. One of our boys saw a couple men heading out late one night – Muse for sure, couldn’t see who the other guy was. Our guy lost track of them before just outside of the city.  They were headed west”

Mickey knew there was more he wanted to say, so he waited because now or later, the question was coming.

“I’m just hoping whoever was driving Colin’s car isn’t in the area anymore, you know? In case those boys catch up.”  Caffrey added.

“Yeah, don’t worry about that.  I got it covered.” They were both quiet, wishing the other would offer up a little trust – Mickey really needed someone to trust right now.

“Mickey, what happened to Hammer?  Where is he?”

“Don’t know.”  Neither said a word. 

Caffrey’s frustration was growing.  He couldn’t help Mickey if he couldn’t get straight answers.  He knew Mickey had been there when Colin died, so the question still remained, what happened to Hammer, because there was no way Hammer just walked away and let Mickey live.

“Yeah, Ok.” Caffrey said, knowing that was all he was going to get today.  “Stay low, and check in with me so I don’t have to lose my fucking mind wondering what the hell is going on with you.  I’ll see what I can find out about Muse… and Sullivan.”

 

Mickey hung up and walked out of the back office running right into Ian who was standing outside the door.  Had he been standing there the entire time?  What had he heard?

“Whoa, you ok, Mick?”  Ian asked, helping Mickey regain his balance after nearly knocking him into yet another wall.

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

Mickey took Ian in.  He’d changed into some older work clothes and had a pair of gloves hanging out of his front waistband, but even in rough gear he still looked good enough to eat, Mickey thought.  Ian gave him that slight smile, the corners of his lips bowing up just so, as he saw the way Mickey was taking him in. 

“You been standing there long?”  Mickey asked, trying not to sound too distrustful.

Ian caught the tone in his voice and wondered what the call had been about that made Mickey act so jumpy.

“No, not long.  Just walked up when you ran into me.  Wanted to let you know Lip has plenty of clothes that will probably fit you if you wanted to change.”

He looked down at Mickey’s clean clothes, the dark blue jeans he had purchased just a week before in Denver, and a freshly pressed shirt, compliments of Sheila.  Ian unconsciously licked his lips as he took it all in.  Mickey didn’t miss it.

“He won’t mind me using his stuff?”

“Fuck him if he does.  Besides he’s not willing to do the work, right?  Come on.” 

Ian led the way up the stairs to Lip’s room.  He opened the bureau drawers and started pulling out clean work shirts and jeans, tossing them on the bed behind him.   Mickey unbuttoned his shirt carefully, taking the time to fold it in quarters before laying it across the bed.  He didn’t have many clothes with him so he needed to take care of the ones he did have.

Ian’s eyes swept over his bare torso, taking in the dips and details of each muscle in his back.  There were small pink scars scattered here and there, one on Mickey’s shoulder, two or three near the left side of his ribs, another just visible on the right side of his back.  Ian wanted to reach out and touch them, to feel Mickey’s perfectly imperfect body, to feel the heat of his skin beneath his fingers and pull him in close where he could just take one…

“You have an undershirt I can use by chance?” Mickey turned, catching Ian’s heavy gaze.  Ian didn’t even flinch or try to hide it.  He simply looked back up to Mickey’s face and smiled, then reached into a different drawer to pull out a white t shirt.  He handed it to Mickey, their fingers briefly pausing against each other as it exchanged hands. 

“Thanks.” Mickey muttered, his eyes lingering on Ian’s longer than necessary. 

Rather than slipping the t-shirt onto his body, Mickey set it on the bed, and began undoing the buttons of his Levi’s, still turned to face Ian.   And why the fuck not?  If Ian wanted to keep playing this game of cat and mouse, Mickey was willing to play along too. 

Ian’s jaw tightened and his mouth watered in anticipation as Mickey went to push his jeans from his hips.  Their eyes meeting momentarily before sweeping the other’s body, both of them having an unspoken conversation leaving very few unanswered questions between them.  Ian wanted Mickey, Mickey knew it… and the feeling was mutual.

“Ian!  Hey Ian, where are you?”   Carl called, his voice coming up the stairs and heading quickly in their direction.

Ian let out a deep breath, and exasperated sigh actually, as Mickey’s stopped pushing his pants down and turned instead to put the undershirt and the work shirt on as Carl entered the room.

“Oh, there you are.  Hey Mickey,” Carl added, without taking note of the obvious tension that filled the air around him.  “Fiona sent me for you. Said she tried calling but the phone was busy.  Some kind of emergency at the store, I didn’t ask.”

“Mickey and I were…”

“Yeah, she told me to take Mickey for his truck and take care of your list today.  You gotto go, now.” Carl pointed his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Fuck! Did she say what the problem was?”  Ian looked at Mickey as he continued to switch out his clothes, cursing his sister inside of his head for her very untimely and inconvenient emergency.

“Nope.  Didn’t ask.”  He held out his hand to Ian, “Give me your work orders for the day.  I’m not cleaning anyone’s shitty outhouse though.  No fucking way.”

Ian reached in his pocket, handing over the sheet and the truck keys to Carl.  “Motherfuck… I swear to god if I get down there and she needs me to watch the store for the day, I’m gonna kill her.  And YOU.”

Mickey still had his back turned to the brothers, but he cracked a smile at Ian’s statement.  He kind of wanted to kill Fiona a little bit himself right now. 

“The fuck did I do?”  Carl complained as he grabbed the keys and left the room.  “Mickey, I’ll meet you out at the truck.”

Mickey turned just as Ian was stomping toward the door, “So, uh, I guess I’ll catch up with you later, huh Firecrotch?”  Ian turned and stared at him, and laugh huffing out at the nickname.

“Really?  _Firecrotch_?  You can’t be serious.” 

Mickey smiled at him and nodded as he finished tying his boot.  He grabbed his clean folded clothes from the bed. 

“I guess I’ll never know, will I?”  He muttered as he pushed past Ian in the doorway. 

He strutted – literally strutted his ass, like a peacock showing off his fucking tail feathers, down the hall then down the stairs, leaving Ian standing there to watch with his mouth hanging open.  
  
Fucking Fiona better be on actual fire when he gets there, he thought to himself, or Ian was going to light her up himself.


	17. The Barter System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! We're about a quarter of the way through this story! I'm trying to get as much published as I can before I leave this week! I hope you're enjoying it!

Mickey and Carl and managed to tow the truck back into town without too much of a problem.  Mickey learned that towing someone up and down mountain roads was definitely not as easy as towing them across the flat city streets of Chicago.  There had been a moment of excitement and pure panic as his truck failed to slow down on a curve, veering a little too close to the drop off on the mountain for Mickey’s comfort.  He pulled the wheel just in time to leave a cloud of dust skirting off the back end of the truck as he felt his tires grip the road again.

By noon, the snow had melted leaving no evidence at all of the storm that had passed through overnight.  They worked through the day, ticking off each job Fiona had given them, before finally sitting down for a late lunch around 4 that afternoon.  They unpacked the food Sheila had sent for them, taking in the sun from the rooftop of the old wood cabin they had come to repair.  Apparently, it was the home of Jerimiah Cross’s family, his wife, and their four children.  Mickey had seen some tight quarters in Chicago, but this cabin had to be just shy of 600 square feet.  He wondered how they all managed to live in such a tiny space.

“So, d’you guys do this shit for free or do they pay you?”  Mickey asked as he pulled apart a roast beef sandwich, tossing a corner of his bread to a bird at the edge of the roof.  The Fall temps had warmed the day enough to leave Mickey hot and sweaty under the two shirts he was wearing.  He unbuttoned the flannel and stripped down to just the sleeveless undershirt.

“Nah, that’s not really how it works around here.  Most things are on the barter system.”  Carl answered with a mouth full of apple.  He explained further, “Gallway used to do ok, back in the day.  The mines were busy, my family’s business was booming.  Then the country went to shit, along by Prohibition, and everything around here started falling apart.”  He tossed his apple core over the side of the roof and looked in the lunch box for more food.

“Frank – my dad – was a drunk mess.  Still is, actually. He really started to fuck things up, financially, and we had all these people in town kind of depending on us to figure it out, make sure they didn’t starve to death.  Fiona wasn’t really more than a kid then, but she stepped up.  Put together some business plans she’d learned about in school, and called a town meeting.” 

Mickey sipped at his water, truly interested in how this little town managed to survive some of the leanest years the country had ever seen.

“Anyway, she starts barking orders at people, like she knows how, putting them into work groups and assigning jobs to everyone who didn’t already have one.  She came right out and told them that if anyone wanted to leave, she understood, but as long as they were in Gallway, every family would eat and have a home as long as we worked together.”  Carl looked at Mickey, nodding his head.  “She can be a real fucking headache most days, with her bitching and moaning, but she kept her promise.  Every family that stayed has managed to do ok. She keeps this place running.  We take care of each other here.”

“That’s really something.”  Mickey said.  The world he was from was every dog for themselves.  People would just as soon steal the roast off your dinner table and leave you and your family to starve just to ensure theirs ate.  From the people he’d met that afternoon working with Carl, he hadn’t see a single hint of that mentality in Gallway.  He wanted to ask more, find out what he could about Ian, and where he fit into all of this, but Carl offered it up first.

“Yeah, it was kind of hit and miss until they built the Stanley a while back.  Oscar, the owner, was driving through one day with some fishing gear and ended up here.   After a lot of long talks and some negotiating with Fiona, he set ups a few hunting and fishing trips with Ian.  They took a few of his men out for a few test runs, and I guess you could say he partnered up with us to make it work.  He sends a lot of his guests up here. Word just sort of spread from there.” 

Spread was putting it mildly.  After Mr. Stanley got involved, the ski industry in Estes began to boom and their small town was overbooked almost year-round, snowy roads permitting.  Many of the guests had learned about Gallway and used it as their overflow vacation spot.  People from all around the states came here during the summer months for their great Rocky Mountain adventures, and during the winter months to warm their bones on the Gallway spirits and jazz as well.

“It was mostly Ian’s idea – all the outdoor tours and stuff.  Before that we were more about lodging and feeding the tourists going through here, but Ian…  He’s got this special talent with people, you know.  Plus, he really fucking good with all that survival shit.  He’s on the volunteer fire crew for the county, but for the most part he spends his time here taking tourists up into the mountains, teaching them how to hunt and fish, doing campouts, shit like that.  We have some cabins up there too for the rich assholes who are too soft to get dirt on their hands.  Canoes, snowshoes, the whole bit.”

It sounded like a fantasy world, Mickey thought.  Like some kind of perfect dream life he’d never even known existed before, living up here in the fresh mountain air, getting paid to go on adventures every day, taking care of the people and the community you lived in.  It was like some sort of fairy tale story out of Hollywood.  Carl started gathering up the remains of their lunch, tossing the biodegradables to the ground for animals and putting the trash back into the lunch box. 

“So then, what’s with all the work orders and shit?” Mickey asked.

“Just how things work around here.  Everyone in town works either in the mines or helps out with the summer tourists.  Not a lot of time in the summer to get to these kinds of jobs done, so the jobs that can wait, like this one,” he points at the stone fireplace stack they’d just cleared of birds nests and leaves, “these jobs get pushed out to Fall.  We all bust our asses to get them done before the real snow comes.  Don’t worry.  It’ll all settle down again in a week or so.  Then we start all over again with Winter season.”

Winter season?  That piqued Mickey’s interest but before he could ask about it, the car Carl had switched Ian for earlier in the day rounded the dirt drive way and parked just below them.   Mickey stood up in time to watch what was quickly becoming his favorite red head of hair getting out of the driver’s seat.

The sunlight hit Ian’s hair perfectly, setting off that fiery déjà vu feeling in Mickey once more.  _Come for me…_  he was positive he could hear Ian’s voice perfectly now in his mind.  Ian looked up at the roof, using his hand to block the sun from his eyes.  His face lit with joy when he laid eyes on Mickey, even as he spoke to Carl instead.  Carl caught the smiles they exchanged between one another as if he wasn’t there at all.

“Carl.  Trade me vehicles.”

“What was Fiona’s emergency?” Carl asked. 

Mickey wanted to know as well. What could have possibly been so urgent that she would send Carl for Ian right when things seemed to be getting interesting between the two of them.

“Fuck if I know.  I got there and she ran out the door telling me to watch the store all day.  You could have done that for her.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes.  It never once dawned on him that maybe his sister had run an interference between him and Mickey on purpose.  Why would it?

Carl and Mickey descended the ladder at the side of the cabin just as Jerimiah’s wife came out with a hot peach pie.  “Here, I made this fresh so you boys can take this and enjoy it with dinner tonight.”

Carl went to take it, but Ian walked up and grabbed it first, “Yeah, I’ll take that.  If you give it to him, no one else will ever get a bite.” 

“Whatever. There better be some left when I get home tonight.” Carl huffed as he traded keys with Ian and headed back toward the car Ian had just come in.

“Don’t worry. I got plenty of peaches off my trees this year. I’ll make you boys all you want.” Mrs. Cross said, then headed back inside.

With both Mrs. Cross and Carl gone, Ian finally turned his attention to Mickey.  

“Hi Mick.”  He said simply, his voice softer than he had intended. 

Mickey grinned as he walked past Ian, pretending the sound of Ian’s voice hadn’t just sent bolts of electricity through his body and straight into his dick just to hear Ian say his name like that. 

“Gallagher.”  He stated firmly, thumbing at his nose the way he seemed to do whenever Ian was near. 

Mickey got into truck and waited for Ian to catch up. Ian’s head dropped to his chest as he let out a little chuckle.  Ok, so now he was _Gallagher_.  One step forward, two steps to the side… he could do this dance.  Hell, he was a great dancer.  He peeked up just once at Mickey as he headed for the driver’s door, giving off a smile so sly he looked like a timid schoolboy.  

But there was nothing fucking timid about Ian Gallagher. 

***

Mickey was covered in dirt and grime from the work of the day, while Ian still looked as pristine as he had that morning, save the work clothes themselves.  He drove down the winding mountain road back towards town, stealing glimpses of Mickey beside him as they went.

“Fiona told me to invite you back to dinner at the house, if you’re interested.  I should warn you though, Sheila’s a better cook, and there will be a shitload of people there tonight.” 

Ian had hoped to deter Mickey’s interest.  If Mickey said no, Ian could crash dinner at the Jackson House instead and maybe get a little one on one time with him afterwards.

Mickey didn’t get that hint. Dinner sounded great right now, even though he’d just had lunch, and he kind of felt as if he owed Fiona for all she had done during his stay those past three days.

“Dinner sounds good.  I gotta go back to my room and clean up though.  Can’t show up looking like this. Any chance someone can come pick me up in an hour or so?”

A hundred thoughts ran through Ian’s mind. He wanted to find a reason to convince Mickey to decline Fiona’s offer without sounding weird about it, but before he could think of anything Mickey added, “Kinda owe her, you know, for all the help she’s given me these last few days, so I should probably go.” 

Mickey looked briefly at Ian as if he too had wished there was a way he could decline the offer.  But this was the right thing to do.


	18. Nailed It!

Sheila served dinner promptly at 6 every night, and was about to start peeling potatoes when the sound of Ian and Mickey entering the foyer brought her out of the kitchen. 

“Oh good!  You’re here.  Ian will you be staying with us for dinner tonight?” She was extra bubbly, smiling between Ian and Mickey as if she shared some secret with them. The secret was written all over their smitten faces.

Her question caught him by surprise.  She was generous to offer a meal whenever he did some small jobs for her, but on a regular basis, she only served dinner for her guests.  He didn’t know why she was extending an invitation to him now.

“No, sorry, I’ll have to pass today. Fiona wants us back at the house for dinner, so Mickey’s gonna be gone too.”  Her face fell with disappointment.  “Why don’t you come along? It’s a full house tonight, and you know Fiona would love to see you.”

Mickey excused himself to his room as they continued to hash out the dinner plans.  If Sheila was going to dinner, she would likely be driving the two of them to Fiona’s house.  That meant Mickey wouldn’t be getting that bit of extra driving time he had hoped to spend with Ian.

Back in his room he laid out the clothes he had been wearing earlier in the day, dark blue jeans and a button up black shirt.  It was simple, but would have to do since he was limited on options. He went to the claw footed tub and began filling it with hot water, anxious to climb in and relax for just a few minute.  It had been a years since he’d spent his days doing physical labor.  His grandfather had always made him work with his hands, fixing things on their property or for the neighbors, but working for the Feds was somewhat less manual. He spent much of his time in an office or his car.

His bedroom was bright with sunlight, the drapes pulled open and his bed freshly made.  Sheila was nothing if not impeccable about the way she kept her house.  The room was hot as the sun shone directly in from the west.  Mickey opened the door leading out to the patio to let the cool afternoon air in.  He locked the bedroom door and got undressed.  The bath tub sat right in front of the bay window, however with the pergola covered patio, and no other guests staying at the house, Mickey didn’t bother to worry that anyone might see him while he bathed. 

He dipped his hand in the hot bath water to test it, then stepped in, sinking slowly down into the hot water, eyes closed as his muscles relaxed to the heat. 

Ian Gallagher.  Mickey hadn’t stopped thinking about him since the minute he laid eyes on him. That beautiful red head with the pink bowed lips and the almond eyes that he couldn’t quite figure out – were they green or blue, or both?  Mickey’s hand sunk down below the water, between his legs.  Ian in all his clumsy flustered glory, not even realizing (or maybe just not caring) what a soft idiot he was.  Mickey leaned his head back, thoughts of Ian filling his mind and his dick.

Back in the foyer, Ian had convinced Sheila to join them for dinner, insisting he stay to drive both of them so that she could have a drink or two with the family tonight.  He looked down the long hall that led to Mickey’s room.  He wanted to go back there and knock on the door – maybe watch Mickey get dressed again like he had earlier - or better yet, undressed. 

Actually, he wanted to go back there and kick the damn door open and undress Mickey himself, but Sheila might have a stroke if he did that.  He’d been in that room dozens of times, fixing lights or broken windows for Sheila.  He knew Mickey was probably soaking in that tub, filled with hot water, right there in plain sight... near the bay windows.

“Sheila, how are you fixed for wood?”  He asked.  The wood shed was around the back of the house, just about 30 feet beyond the bridal suite windows.

“Oh, I think I’m ok.  Mickey helped me bring some over yesterday.”

Damn.  

“You need coal?  Want me to go get a few buckets from the shed?” 

“Nope.” She stated plainly. A small smile crossed her face.  “You know what I could use?”

Ian looked up at her quickly as he heard the sing song tone of her voice. 

“You know that back fence, over on the south end of the house?”  Ian nodded, “Well, I think a few pickets are coming loose.  You could take the hammer out there and put a few nails in for me.  It would be a huge help.”

His face lit up, “Yeah, I could do that, I guess.”

She sent him off with a bucket of nails and the hammer, knowing damn well that there were no loose pickets in the back fence, but it was worth the small white lie to see him practically skip out the back door as he headed to the south end of the yard, right beyond Mickey’s patio doors.

It’s not really considered ‘spying’ if the person you’re watching just happens to be in direct line of sight, Ian told himself.  It wasn’t even like he could see anything that well at all anyway.  Even with the drapes pulled open the sunlight was hitting Mickey’s windows just right, so all Ian could see was a ghost of Mickey’s naked body as he climbed into the tub. 

A ghost of Mickey’s naked body was more than enough, and at the same time it wasn’t nearly close enough to being enough.

Ian stood under the shadow of the bare aspens, completely enchanted by Mickey’s silhouette as he climbed into the tub.  He mindlessly reached his hand to rest on one of the pickets, pulling ever so slightly to see if it wiggled, then took a step forward to the next, making his way closer and closer to the patio.  His eyes never left the window.

He continued like this, silently watching, hoping for just a glance of the dark haired man inside, as he slowly pulled at each picket. A few of them wiggled the tiniest bit, and probably could have used a new nail, but they were quickly ignored as he moved on to the next without stopping to fix them.  Each step took him closer to Mickey’s open patio door.  Each step made Ian want to drop the nails and hammer at his feet and run straight into that room tearing his clothes off as he went.

As he neared the patio, his view of the window was obscured by the long evergreen vining growing along the lattice that covered the patio.  He couldn’t see the windows any more, but now he could hear the familiar sound of rhythmic lapping of water inside. He knew the sound – he knew what Mickey was up to in there.  Just feet from Mickey’s door now, separated only by a wall of vines, and he could clearly hear Mickey’s heavy breathing as he drew himself closer and closer to the edge. 

Ian rested his head against the vines, listening – knowing.  He could hear Mickey’s body moving beneath the water, his hand breaking the surface with each pull, and his breath heavy and labored. Ian’s own breath began to feel heavy and labored.  He wiped glistening sweat from his forehead as he listened to Mickey jerking himself off just twenty feet away from him. 

He stepped closer toward the door, no longer thinking about what it might look like if someone were to catch him standing here.  He was so lost in thoughts of naked Mickey on the other side of that door with his dick in hand, that it took everything in Ian to stay right the fuck where he was and not join Mickey in that tub. 

And then it happened – standing there in the shadows of the trees and vines outside the house, Ian heard Mickey moan out _his_ name – _Ian! –_ as his orgasm ringing through Ian's ears like a bell calling the men home to dinner!  Ian’s head shot up in such surprise, he hit the back of it on a large branch of the tree he’d rested his hand against.  He let out a loud “ _Ouch!”,_ and dropped the can of nails to the ground with an even louder clatter!  

He rubbed his head and tried to get his bearings again, then heard the splash of water inside and knew Mickey was getting out of the tub.  Ian grabbed the half empty can of nails, turning to rush back to the fence to busy himself, and rammed his forehead straight into the same large branch that had assaulted him the first time.

“FUCK!”

Before he could duck under the branch to save himself any embarrassment, Mickey was standing out on the patio, pulling a towel around his wet body and fastening it at his waist.  He peered through the spaces of the thinly packed vines and held back a laugh as he watched Ian struggling to get away from the door.

“You ok, Firecrotch?” Mickey asked, doing his best to hold back the guffaw sitting in his throat.

“Shit.  Yeah, I’m good.” Ian said, reaching quickly for the picket fence and feigning a sudden interest in it as he bent down to hammer a nail randomly into the wood. 

“Just, uh… fixing Sheila’s fence. She asked me to come out here.  I was just … I just came out… just a minute ago.  Ran into the tree.”

“Yep.  I can see that.” Mickey said, unable to contain the huge smile on his face.  “How’s the fence coming?”

Ian reached for another nail, stumbling with the can and dropping it to the ground again, spilling the remaining nails onto the dirt. 

“Fuck!  I mean, fine.  It’s fine.  Just a few more nails and it should be good.”  He picked up the closest nail he could get his fingers on, a tiny nail not even an inch long, much too short to go through the wood pickets, and began enthusiastically hammering it into the fence.  Mickey watched him through the vines, full on laughing as silently as he could, with his hand over his mouth so Ian wouldn’t hear him.  

“Ok.  Well, it looks like you have it all under control.  I’m gonna go, uh, finish… getting dressed.”

“Yep!”  Ian called, acting as disinterested as possible.  

“You fuckin’ do that.” He added in a low whisper once he knew Mickey had gone back into his room.  

 _Oh my god, you’re such a fucking idiot!_  He knew it was true.  He knew he’d been busted, but as he stood there, hammering a third nail into the post, a smile slowly began to bow at his lips, his eyes lighting up at the memory of Mickey calling out his name has he had come.  Ian’s stomach did flips at the thought of it, the smile now nailed firmly in place. 

“You fuckin’ do that, Mick.” He repeated as he listened to Mickey whistling a tune in the room behind him.


	19. Sick Mick Whiskey Dick

They didn’t talk about it, or even hint at it.  By the time Mickey was dressed, Ian had gathered up most of the nails and returned them to Sheila who was waiting patiently for them in the dining room.  She gave Ian a little smile and a wiggle of her brows, silently inquiring if he ‘fixed the fence,’ but he just shook his head and waived her off, simply saying, “Don’t ask.”

Fortunately, the mood driving back to the Gallagher house was light, even though neither of the men were talking. Sheila sat between them chatting on about a new Readers Digest that had come in the mail and a letter she got from a friend back home. Mickey kept his eyes on the scenery out the window, but there was an obvious smirk on his face threatening to turn into a full blown smile or even laughter at times as the memory of Ian banging away at the fence played in his head.   Ian pretended to listen to Sheila, all the while catching glances of Mickey as often as he could by checking his mirrors more than usual.

As they turned into the long drive leading to the Gallagher house, Mickey began whistling the same tune he had been after catching Ian outside of his room.

“Oh, that’s a lovely tune, I like that.” Sheila said.

Ian broke into a silent chuckle, making Mickey work hard not to smile and break up his tune, but it was no use.  By the time Ian was parking the truck, they were both chuckling under their breath, leaving Sheila dumbfounded as to what joke she must have missed.

The rest of the evening was easier. They didn’t stray far from each other as the night went on, sometimes standing a little closer than they needed to, bumping elbows or shoulders, then using the crowded room as their excuse.  The room wasn’t that crowded.

Fiona was readily available to introduce Mickey around, laying her hand comfortably on his shoulder or his arm.  She was all made up for the night, curled hair down at her shoulders, a modest lipstick and rouge, and she even took the occasion to put on a nice pink house dress.  She giggled a bit more than Mickey remembered from their previous meetings, laughing at almost everything he said, but he marked it up to finally enjoying a nice relaxing evening after what seemed like a very long week at work for her.

On the few occasions when Ian wasn’t nearby, each of them searched the room for the other.  Occasionally, their eyes met for a split second before continuing to look around as if they hadn’t just been seeking the other out.

Sometimes they didn’t look away.  Sometimes they held onto to each other from across the distance for a few seconds longer, usually ending in Ian’s perfect pink lips curling up just a little before Mickey would clear his throat, thumb at his nose, then turn away.

About two hours into the evening, Fiona stood, using a silver spoon to tap at her coffee cup ineffectually to get everyone’s attention.  When that didn’t work, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.  After a few seconds the room settled down, all eyes on her.

She looked around the room with a proud smile.  Lip moved to cabinet just behind her, opening it up to expose several bottles of beautiful amber colored whiskey, which made Mickey’s mouth water at the sight of it. 

Lip walked around the room pouring out generous cups to each person before setting the empty bottle down and starting a new one.  Fiona waited for everyone to get their glass before raising her own in the in the air and speaking.

“Another successful season come and gone.” She said with a smile. “Another year we managed to thrive as one big family here in Gallway Falls.  None of it would be possible without every single person in this town and all the heart and muscle you all put into making Gallway a beautiful place to live.  Here’s to all of you for a successful Summer Season.  May Winter Season be just as kind.  Cheers!”

“Cheers!!” the room cried out as the volume of music turned louder and everyone celebrated. 

Mickey raised his glass, his eyes falling back on Ian across the room while everyone toasted.  He hadn’t been here to take credit for the work they’d done over the past few months, but looking at the way Ian was laughing, full of life, and celebrating with Lip and Carl across the room, Mickey knew he wouldn’t mind being here to put the work in next Summer.     

Ian caught Mickey watching him.  Mickey tipped his cup in a toast, giving him a quick smile and a wink, then took a drink.

“Whoa!  That’s good shit.”  Mickey said upon tasting the whiskey.  It definitely wasn’t the same hooch Carl had shared with him before.  He leaned in to ask one of the men standing nearby,  “What is this?  I think I had some of this back at a hotel in Denver.” 

“Yeah, that’s possible,” the man said, eyeing Mickey.  He didn’t know Mickey from Adam, but Fiona had welcomed him into the house tonight, and Ian sure seemed to take a liking to him, so the man decided he was probably ok. “That there is world famous Gallway Whiskey.”

“Come on Fred – it’s not _world_ famous… yet”

Mickey looked at him curiously.  Fiona walked up just in time to catch the last part of the conversation.

“What are we talking about boys?  Fred, Sam – have you met Mickey?”

“Mickey, it’s nice to meet you!”  Fred offered a giant, callused handshake.  “Mickey was just saying he thought maybe he had a sip this fine drink down in Denver at a hotel” 

Alarm bells went off in Fiona’s head, and she quickly remedied the converstaion, “I doubt they have any whiskey this good in a hotel, Fred.  This here is special.”  She gave him a warning look before he and Sam excused themselves, leaving Fiona alone with Mickey.

“Remember when I told you my great grandfather ran a Whiskey distillery?  Well, we got stock for years. We take a little out of the vaults to celebrate at the end of each season.” 

She tried an innocent smile on Mickey, hoping he was buying her story.  After all, it wasn’t illegal to possess alcohol, or even drink it.  It was only illegal to produce it and sell it.  So she left those small detail out - The part where she might add something along the lines of ‘ _we still produce and sell more than 5000 barrels a year_.’ 

Yes, Fiona’s little town had once been an actual coal mining town all right, but there was only one coal mine left in operation, and that was more for town consumption than for profit. The men of Gallway Falls spend their days high up in the mountain mines producing the town's true money maker – Gallway Whiskey. 

He took another generous gulp of his drink as if to demonstrate his disinterest in the details.  Normally he’d be very interested in hearing more, but he was on a work hiatus, and he liked whiskey, so tonight the details didn’t matter.  Fiona grabbed a nearby bottle and filled his cup again with a smile.

 

They didn’t stop at the two bottles Lip had pulled from the cabinet.  They didn’t stop at three.  Before the night was over, every shelf of the cabinet which had previously been lined with bottles was now empty, well over a dozen in all.  There was laughter, and singing, and dancing, and once Mickey was dizzy with intoxication, he made himself at home on the baby grand piano in the room.  Magically other instruments were brought out as well, and soon the room was filled with live music while Fiona entertained them with song. And boy, could Fiona belt out a tune! 

At the end of the night, Fiona offered beds to their guests who were too drunk to drive the mountain roads. There was plenty of room in the main house or in one of the cabins out back, but Sheila had insisted she get home, reminding Ian of his promise to drive her. Before they left, Sheila went to help Fiona clean up some of the mess in the kitchen.

Ian and Mickey made their way to the back of the house where the truck was parked. Mickey was still high as a kite, giggling and swaying on the rocky pathway as he walked. Ian had to reach out and grab him a few times to keep him from wandering into the bushes. 

Mickey let out a happy sigh, “That was a good night.  I haven’t done that in… I can’t remember the last time I did that?”

“What? Spent a night out with family?”  Ian asked.

“Nah, not just that.  All of it.  Family, laughing, drinking.” He tripped over his own feet, fumbling off the path until Ian grabbed his arm and held onto him the rest of the way. Mickey cackled and threw his arm around Ian’s shoulder to hold on.

“Aaahahahaaa! Shit, I almost died!”  His words were slurred and slow, “Hey!  Wh-why… how are you… why aren’t you drunk?”  Mickey asked.  He leaned into Ian a bit more.  Ian slipped his arm around Mickey’s lower back settling it around his waist.  It definitely wasn’t there to help support Mickey, and Mickey knew it.  He glanced down at Ian’s hand, his brows shooting up his head in surprise, then he looked back at Ian with a drunk smile.

“Guess I wasn’t drinking as much.  Stopped about an hour ago when Sheila reminded me I was her ride home.”  He rolled his eyes a bit at that, making Mickey grunt.

“Uuggh, yeah. Fuckin’ shame, man. Would be good to stay here with you.” Mickey said, catching Ian by surprise, but by the way he slurred out the sentence, Ian was pretty sure he wouldn’t even remember he said it in the morning.

“You can stay if you want to Mick.”  Ian said, just in case.

They stopped walking about ten feet short of the truck.  Mickey turned his head and leaned into Ian’s shoulder and smiled.

“Fucking want to, sure.  But I got serious Whiskey dick, man.”  The thought of that hit him funny and he broke out into hilarious laughter, but no sound was coming out of him.  He bent over, smacked his thigh and continued to laugh for just a few seconds, then took a quick dive onto the grass and began to heave.

“Mick!  Shit, you ok?!”

He held his hand out for Ian to stand back, “yea… HUUUURGGEHH.. yeeeuuggeh! _Fucking Hell!”_

He took a deep breath, and stayed there bent over until the heaving subsided, then sat down hard on the ground.  “I’m good… shit, thought I was gonna puke.”

Ian sat down next to him. Mickey wavered for a minute, then fell slowly against Ian’s shoulder, making Ian laugh.

“Yeah, ok – I’ll take you back to Sheila’s.  Whiskey dick is a bitch, for sure.”

Mickey kept his face low, raising his eye and his one brow up at Ian, “Can’t last forever, right?” 

They both laughed, Mickey snorting loudly and sliding off balance a little as Ian pulled him to sit up straight again. Ian knew Mickey was probably going to forget this entire conversation come morning, but he really hoped he didn't.

***

“All righty. You’re just about all cleaned up here.” Sheila announced.  “I’ll gather up my new man and be heading home then.” She joked.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how is Mickey?” Fiona pried. “I was hoping to spend some time with him before he leaves.”

“Oh, he’s just a pleasure.  Very good listener. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to spend a few minutes talking with him soon.”

“Lord help me, when I get him alone, I plan on doing a hell of a lot more than just talking.” She said under her breath, not realizing Sheila was standing so close behind her. 

Sheila stepped up beside Fiona, and dead panned her.

“Oh shit.  You heard that?  Don’t give me that look!  That man is fine and you know it!  Just look.”  Fiona pointed out to the truck where Ian and Mickey had finally made their way and were now leaning against the truck laughing.

“Which man are you talking about, dear?” She asked earnestly.

Fiona furrowed her brows at Sheila.  Surely there wasn’t a question of _which_ man, considering one of them was her baby brother.

“Uh, the one I’m _not_ related to.” She said with a chuckle.

“Oh. good luck with that.”  Sheila stated.  She turned back to the icebox to put some food away. “But,  I’m not quite sure you’re his type.”

“What? Why… what makes you think I’m not his type?” Fiona asked. She turned toward Sheila, hand on hip, looking offended.

“Whose type?” Kev said as he and Vee entered the room carrying empty liquor glasses they had gathered from around the living room.

“Yeah, whose type? I wanna know what blind man thinks Fiona isn’t his type.  I mean, just look at her.  I’d do you, baby, if I didn’t already have a man.” Vee said, smacking Fiona on the ass.

“Mickey’s.  I said I would like to get him alone, and Sheila said I’m not his type.”  She looked at Sheila as if expecting an explanation, but got her answer from Kevin instead.

“Oh yeah. She’s definitely right about that.”  Vee nodded her head with an _mmhmmm._

“Wait a minute.  Why the fuck are you all saying I’m not his type!  What the hell is wrong with _me_?” Fiona insisted. 

Vee looked at her pointedly and crossed her arms, “You mean to tell me that you actually think you have a chance with that boy?”

“He’s not a boy.  He’s only a few years younger than me, probably.  It’s not like I’m an old fucking lady, shit!  Stop making me feel like I’m dead!” 

Fiona threw the dishtowel she’d been wiping her hands with onto the counter and put her hands on her hips, challenging anyone in the room to call her old.  They all stared at her for a beat, completely speechless as they realized that she just didn’t get it, before busting out laughing!  Sheila waved a hand in front of her face, trying to calm her laughter as Vee and Kev high fived each other and laughed, leaving Fiona baffled by their response.  

“The fuck is wrong with all of you!?” She insisted.

“Honey, he’s _GAY_!”  Vee cried out.

“What!?   Noooo.  No he’s fucking not!  Why would you even say that?”

Her thoughts ran back though every conversation she’d had with Mickey since the first day he’d walked into town. She pictured the way he carried himself, a man’s man, brimming with spit and vinegar, walking the streets like he fucking owned the place. There had been nothing he’d said to even hint he was gay.  She looked at the three of people in front of her as they slowly brought their laughter under control, waiting for an answer.

“ _Love is love_?”  Kevin said, repeating Mickey’s words from the morning before.

“So! That was just a coincidence!  We’ve all been saying that for years – you of all people should get that.” She said, pointing between him and Vee.

“Oh, come on, girl!  Haven’t you seen the way he looks at Ian, watching every single move that boy makes, smiling at the sight of him?  He practically melts into a puddle at the sound of his voice or the mention of his name. That boy is smitten, and I’m sorry to tell you, it’s not with you.” 

Vee patted Fiona on the back, turning her slightly to peer back out the window where the two men were leaning so closely near each other that their thighs and shoulders touched with each move.  Fiona watched, her beautiful little brother, now a grown man, as he laughed and stole quick glances of the man standing beside him.  Mickey doing exactly the same with Ian. 

“Holy shit. _HOLY SHIT_ , you’re fucking right!” She turned around and began laughing, igniting everyone in the room to join her again.  “I can’t believe I missed that!  Oh my god!”

“Missed what?” Carl asked as he and Lip entered the kitchen.

“Mickey’s _GAY_!” She announced shockingly, expecting them to be as surprised by the revelation as she was.

Lip looked around the room at everyone laughing, him and Carl shrugging simultaneously. 

“Yeah.  So what? I thought everyone sort of got that already, you know, with the way him and Ian were eye fucking each other all night long.  I mean, I definitely got it.” Lip said, not getting the humor.

“Yep, I got that too.” Carl agreed, heading for the back staircase.  “Going to bed.  See you losers in the morning.”

The laughter died down, but Fiona was still dumbfounded by it all.  The more she thought of it, the more she remembered the way Mickey’s eyes had followed Ian out of the store the first day they had met.   The way Mickey’s lips curled up into a smile just a little more at the mention of Ian’s name, and the way his blue eyes seemed to sparkle with life when he and Ian were together. 

“Fuck.  I can’t believe I missed that.” She said to no one in particular.


	20. Tit for Tat - Fiona's Circle of Trust

The drive back to Sheila’s house was been quiet, with Sheila slowly dozing off between the two men. The late hour and alcohol had her snoring on Mickey’s shoulder almost before they reached the end of the Gallagher’s long driveway.  He tried to nudge her off once, but she cuddled in closer, laying an arm across his chest to get comfy. Ian laughed, and Mickey quickly surrendered, too drunk to even care anymore.  He spent the rest of the drive with a funny grimace on his face as he watched her sleeping with her mouth open, horrified she might start drooling.

At last, Ian finally pulled up to the front of the Jackson house and put the truck into park, killing the engine.  He looked over and chuckled at Mickey’s obvious discomfort with the situation.

“We should probably wake her up.” He said after a few seconds when neither him nor Mickey had moved to exit the truck.

Mickey looked at him, the lack of the moonlight barely enough to see Ian in the dark.  “Mmnmm. Probably should.” was all he said, but again neither of them moved to do so. He was slightly more sober than he had been before leaving the Gallagher’s house, and had lost his drunken bravado he’d had earlier.  The silence between them grew, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. 

“Have you ever been hiking?”  Ian asked.  Mickey looked at him curiously.

“Depends on how you define hiking.”  He had been out hunting a fugitive in the hills of Illinois once.  There was a time he might have called those mountains, but since he’d seen the Rocky Mountains, he was fairly certain he’d never done the sort of hiking Ian might be asking about. 

“You know.  That thing you do where you put on some boots and strap a sack with food and shit onto your back and go for a stroll up a giant fucking mountain, hoping you don’t get killed by a mountain lion or a bear?  Hiking?”  Ian said sarcastically.

Mickey chuckled.  “Since you put it that way, Ima go with No.  Lived in the city all my life.  Didn’t really go for a lot of strolls up a giant fucking mountain, if you know what I mean.” 

Ian’s smile grew with excitement.

“I have to go to the cabins this week to get them winterized before we get too much snow.  There’s a road that goes up there, but the weathers supposed to be nice for a while.  I thought I’d take the hike instead. Stay up there for a few days.”

Mickey nodded, not sure if Ian was just stating facts to let him know he’d be gone a few days or something more.  Sheila wiggled around on the seat next to him, snoring loudly into his face.  He eyed her, trying to keep is eyes from meeting Ian’s, but it was no use.  He seemed drawn to Ian at every moment.

“So?” Ian asked.  Mickey finally looked at him.  Even in the dark he could see little sparks of green in his eyes.  Green.  They were definitely green, he had decided. 

“So what?” Mickey asked. 

“Do you, maybe wanna go… hiking?  With me?” 

Mickey turned his head toward the passenger window and looked at Sheila’s house, a light burning in the foyer to welcome them back.  She began to stir awake next to him, stretching her arms out in front of her with a yawn. 

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  I’m so sorry.  Was I snoring?” She shook her hand as if she didn’t want to know the answer to that, then tapped Mickey on his leg so that he would open up the door for them.

“Ian, honey, thank you for driving tonight.  I’m so glad I went.  Come on, Mickey, let’s get inside.”  She slid out of the seat behind Mickey, closing the truck’s door before Mickey could have the chance to change his mind and climb back in, then began waiving Ian off, “Good night, Ian!  Thanks again!” 

Sheila grabbed Mickey’s arm for balance and turned them both toward the house. Ian started the engine to leave.   They were already taking the first steps up to the porch when Mickey moved Sheila’s arm from around his own and excused himself.

“Hold up, be right back.”  He called out loudly as Ian began to pull away from the curb, “IAN!”  The brake lights from the truck came on as Mickey came jogging back.  Ian reached across the truck and rolled the window down a bit.

“Yeah, Mick?”

Mickey bit at his lip and smiled as Ian waited for an answer.  What the fuck was it about this red head that left him feeling so exposed and nervous? 

“Yeah.  I wanna go.  Hiking.   With you.” 

Ian lit up in a grin from ear to ear.  Mickey flipped him off, laughing, then went jogging back to the Jackson House.

***

The brush of winter that had come just the night before was only a memory now.  Mickey sat on the front porch drinking coffee, amazed at how blue the sky was, as Sheila cleaned up the morning dishes behind him.  He assumed he would be working with Ian again today, but it was already after 9 and he hadn’t heard from him.  He winced at the vague memory of the conversation him and Ian had the night before that had something to do with puking, whiskey, and maybe even his dick, then shook it from his head thinking it was probably better if he didn’t remember what was said. It was no wonder the government imposed Prohibition on them.  It only took one good bender for him to start acting like a fucking idiot.

By 10 a.m. he was beginning to get concerned.  Sheila had a phone in the kitchen, but Mickey was feeling restless and decided to forego the phone call and just take a walk to the Outfitters to see if Fiona needed any help, and maybe find out if Ian had already gone out to work for the day.

The main streets of town were alive with people Mickey was beginning to recognize.  Some from dinner the night before, others from making his rounds with Ian or Carl.  The men and women in the stores waved at him enthusiastically as he passed, calling out “Good morning, Mickey!  Nice to see you!”

Hesitantly he waved back, but by the time he’d reached the middle of town, he was stopping to have actually morning chit chat with a few of the proprietors, even taking a minute to look inside a few of their stores. 

The walk took him 45 minutes longer than it probably should have, but he was grateful for the distraction, not wanting to look desperate if Ian happened to be at the Outfitters when he got there.  Before he had an opportunity to pull the front door open, something, or more accurately, someone got his attention.  There was a strange man looking inside Mickey’s truck which was parked across the street in the mechanics lot.  They were checking the doors to see if they were unlocked.

“Hey!  Hey asshole!  Get away from my truck!”  Mickey ran across the street, reaching the guy as he was about to pull something from his pocket – Mickey assumed it was a knife or a gun, and yanked the guys arm, twisting it behind his back, then threw him hard into the hood of the truck.

“Whoa! Hey!  What the hell are you doing?” 

“I could ask you the same thing!” Mickey growled at him.  Mickey had him pinning down in place.  “The fuck are you looking for?”

“I won’t fucking know unless you let me look!”  the guy answered.

“What??  What does that even mean?”

Fiona came running across the street, yelling at Mickey.   Actually, once he paid attention to what she was saying, he realized she was actually yelling at the other guy.

“Jimmy! Shit!  Jimmy, are you ok?  Mickey, _let him go_!  That’s the mechanic, Jimmy.” 

Mickey looked down at the guy, quickly letting him loose and taking a step back.  “Shit, I’m so sorry, man.  They told me you were gone for another week or something.  I didn’t know you were the mechanic.  Just thought you were trying to steal my truck.” 

Jimmy wiped his clothes as if Mickey had somehow managed to get him covered in dirt, keeping his untrusting glare on him.  Fiona ran up, stopping short of both men.

“Mickey, I’m sorry. I should have told you Jimmy was back.”

Once the confusion had been cleared up, Mickey and Fiona walked back to the Outfitters while Jimmy went about popping the hood on Mickey’s truck to check it out.

Music was coming from the back of the store where Mickey could hear someone attempting to move something that sounded heavy with a great deal of effort.   He rushed toward the store room, expecting to turn the corner to see Ian, but as he rounded the wall, he was disappointed.  It was only Carl.

“Oh good, Mickey.  Grab that side and help me out.”  Carl was dragging a large wooden file cabinet across the room. “We’re putting it right over there.”  They both pushed, moving the cabinet less than 3 inches.

“The fuck do you have in here, dead bodies?” Mickey asked as he braced his legs with his back against the cabinet, ready to push again.

“Nah, just… files… and shit.”  Carl answered as they tried again.

Mickey stood up, watching Carl push in vain, sliding the cabinet another three or four inches.   The space they were moving it to was 15 feet across the room.

“Wait.”  Mickey said as Carl pushed again, probably giving himself a hernia.  “Stop.  Wait!  Jesus Christ, did you ever stop to think about maybe taking each of the drawers out first?”

Carl deadpanned stared at Mickey.  “Yes.  I thought of that.”

“Ok, then why are they still in there?”  Mickey asked, pointing to the front of the cabinet.

“Because I never fucking thought about it, ok?  Come on, help me.”   They spent the next few minutes pulling out heavy drawers, some needing both of them to carry to ensure they didn’t drop them.  Once the cabinet was empty, it only took one man to move the entire 15 feet.  They both reinserted each drawer into the newly located cabinet, with Carl earning a nice atta-boy pat on his back from Mickey for finally ‘figuring it out.’

“What are you doing here?” Carl asked.

Mickey didn’t want to admit he was looking for Ian, but that was what he was doing.  “Just looking for something to fill the time.  Thought maybe you guys might need some help with that work list you got.  I guess Ian’s already out working though, right?”

“Ian?  No.  He’s gone.  Left about 6 this morning with Lip.”  Carl headed to the front of the store where Fiona was boxing up some seasonal of the summer items to make room for a giant stack of snow shoes and parkas that needed a space.

Mickey wanted to know what Carl meant by ‘gone’ but he’d already moved on to helping Fiona move merchandise. 

“Need a hand?” He asked, looking around not quite sure what he should do.  He could go back to the Jackson house, mess around on the piano – he actually did enjoy that.

“No, I think we got it under control today, Mickey, but thank you.” Fiona said dismissively.

“Ok.  You don’t need any help with your work orders today?” He added as he shifted his weight from leg to leg.

She looked up at him. He was glancing around the store nervously.  He’d come looking for Ian, and she was finally getting a clue. 

“You know, I probably do, actually, but Ian’s not here today. He’ll be gone for a day or two.  I can’t really send you out alone since you won’t know where you’re going.  And Carl has a few jobs he needs to be getting around here to himself.” 

Mickey nodded and looked at the front door, ready to leave. 

“Have you ever gone hiking?” he heard Fiona ask.  He grinned as he remembered the conversation with Ian in the truck.

“Uh, no.  Ian said we were gonna go in a few days.”  Fiona saw the way Mickey’s face warmed as he spoke of her brother.

“Yeah, well, if you want a true outdoor adventure, he’s the one to take you.  You got any gear?”

He looked at her questioningly.  “You know, a decent pair of boots, a pack, a warm jacket?” she said as she held up a parka beside her.

Mickey looked down at the clothes on his body, a pair of Levi’s, a long sleeve black cotton shirt, and a pair of boots made for city exploration, not mountains.  “You’re lookin’ at it.” He said.

Fiona stood, and pulled him by his arm as she took him around the store, grabbing flannels shirts off one rack, and mid weight jackets from another.  She filled her hands with different items and he watched her with wide eyes.  He had money to pay for all of it, but she didn’t know that.  She walked him to the back room and tossed it down onto one of the tables. 

“Here, try some of this stuff on to make sure it fits.”

“Uh…” he began to protest. 

“Seriously, you’re gonna need all this shit.  Try it on.   And don’t worry about the cost.  We’ll work something out.”  He remembered Carl mentioning Fiona was big on the barter system for the town – tit for tat - and smiled at the idea that she might include him into that small circle of trust. 

“Yeah, ok. I can trade you for some work or something.”

“Or something.” She said as she walked back out of the room.  “If it doesn’t fit, don’t force it.  Just holler and I’ll bring you a new size.  This stuff needs to be right if you want to be safe.”


	21. Love Sick Puppy

“The fuck just happened back there!”

“Just fucking drive and don’t worry about it.  Ain’t nobody around for miles.”

“You didn’t have to fucking shoot him.”  Iggy skid around the dirt drive onto the long road leaving town, keeping an eye on his mirrors and every intersection they passed for anyone who might see them pass by.

“Well, he shouldna been a fucking asshole when I asked him for a little information then.”  Muse pulled out a flask and downed the last of the liquid inside.

They’d been stopping at every exit that had any guest services at all along the way, and after two days, they finally hit a jackpot.  The retard at the gas station was in a talkative mood when they came in, and mentioned he’d had a beauty of a car, red, come through a while back, with Chicago plates just like theirs.   A few more hours in town, and a little sweet talking to Madge (or was it Marge) behind the counter at a diner, and they convinced her that they were trying to hunt down their stolen vehicle. 

She’d thought she was being helpful when she pointed out the old Doc who’d just walked in the door for his morning coffee.  In a few hours, or possibly even days, when the cops finally found the Doc and his wife dead in their living room Madge (or maybe Marge) would be too distraught with guilt to remember many details of the two men.  The only thing she’d know for sure was one was handsome and charming, and the other didn’t say much at all.

***

Mickey insisted on walking back to Sheila’s with his knew hiking equipment, not wanting to put Carl or Fiona out by interrupting their work for the day.  He stopped in at the café with his to bags of supplies for a cup of coffee and some pie, making light conversation with two of the older men who were sitting at a booth nearby.  The men mentioned seeing him in town with Ian and Carl, and apparently that made Mickey A-OK with them.  Anyone who was a friend of the Gallaghers was a friend of theirs.  Mickey smiled at that.  Something about this small town living that he hadn’t understood two day earlier was beginning to grow on him now.

After spending an hour reading through the Boulder Gazette, Mickey gathered up his packages and paid for his pie.  He tossed the Gazette into a pile of other discarded papers, right on top of the larger Denver newspaper which had the headline:  _Chicago Gang War!_  

Sheila was just as perky as ever when he opened the front door.

“Oh!  Look at you and all your new treasures!  Here, let me help.”  They moved his packages into his room as she inspected each item, “This will look so nice on you, Mickey!  Oh, this will keep your warm! Oh, Ian will love this color – it matches your eyes!” 

He looked at her shocked, but she just continued on as if she’d said nothing out of the ordinary by hinting he might look good for Ian.

“I love the boots - I have a pair like them myself.  Two flannel shirts – that’s good.  You’ll need them for for the mountains. The cotton breaths beautifully.  You have to have material that breaths so your body doesn’t get too sweaty and stinky.  I mean, not that you are stinky, but it would be a shame after a nice afternoon hike with Ian if you were worried about that, you know.”  She stated, once again insinuating he would want to be his best for Ian.  He moved his things to the bureau.

“You know, there’s a nice little trailhead just about three blocks from here, where the paved road veers left and the dirt road veers right.  You can go for a little walk up there if you wanted to.  It’s a nice day.  I can pack you some sandwiches.  Oh, but you’ll probably want to take one of my guns.” She said, moving into the hallway.

Mickey jerked his head around toward her.

“GUN?  Why would I need a gun for a little walk?”

“Oh, Mickey honey. There are mountain lions right here in my own backyard.  You have to have a gun with you.  I should have mentioned that before I let you walk around town all morning.  Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course, I know how to use a gun!” He walked over to the safe, pulling the key from his pocket to open it.  He pulled out the revolver he had tucked inside.  Sheila looked at it doubtfully.

“That’s a very nice gun. Look how small it is.” She said.  “That’s perfect for town.  If you’re with Ian, don’t worry about it.  He’ll keep you safe, but if you go walking off alone, you should definitely take that with you.  Here…” She walked out of the room again, returning a minute later carrying a long rifle, “This is what you should take hiking though.  I haven’t seen any bears this year, but they’re still out there with the lions.  No need for you to get eaten for dinner if we can avoid it.”

Sheila handed the a large .45-70 over along with some shells, just as the front door of the house opened.

“Hello.  Sheila?  Mickey?”

“I think that’s Carl. Let me go see what he wants.”  She left Mickey standing there with a bear rifle in his hands and his mouth hanging open.

“Mickey, can you come in here a moment?” She called a minute later. She headed to the kitchen as he walked out.

Carl eyed the rifle he was carrying and started laughing. 

“Sheila sending you up the trail?” he asked.

“How’d you know that?”  Mickey said, setting the gun against a chair and the shells onto the table.

“She tried to hand that gun to an 8-year-old little girl once.  Told her not to get eaten by a bear.” Carl looked around to make sure Sheila was out the room, swirling his finger in little round circles at his head when he looked back at Mickey.  He lowered his voice when he spoke again, “She’s a sweet lady. Do anything for you, but I’m not sure she’s all there.”

Mickey was beginning to understand what him and Ian and Fiona were on about when it came to Sheila. 

“So, what brings you here?  Need help with anything?”

“Yeah, but it’s heavy work, man, so it’s ok if you wanna say no.  Just got a call that there’s a felled tree.  I gotta go clear it so that the trucks can get through when Ian and Lip get back.”

Mickey wondered what trucks Carl was talking about, but didn’t get a chance to ask, as Carl turned to leave.  “So, if you wanna go, I can wait for you outside.   Just, put on some old work clothes so you don’t ruin what you got on.”

They worked on the tree all afternoon, until sundown.  Mickey wanted to ask more about the trucks Carl had mentioned earlier, but it was heavy work, just as Carl had said, and there was little talking in between.  They stacked wood on the side of the road in piles, adding a generous amount of the larger pieces into the back of the truck to take back down to the main house.  

Mickey looked at the dirt road leading up the mountain and wondered where it went.  He assumed to one of the many coal mines Ian had mentioned.  Ah, the trucks.  The coal mines.  That must have something to do with where Ian had gone. Now it all made a little more sense.

Mickey used an old rag hanging from the side of the truck to wipe sweat from his face and neck, accepting a jug of water Carl had offered him. 

“So, Ian, huh?” Carl said nonchalantly, as he headed for the driver’s side

Mickey tossed the rag over the back of the seat and closed his door, wondering what Carl could be getting at.  “What does that mean? What about Ian?”

“He likes you.” Carl stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

Mickey’s head spun around to look at Carl, his brows furrowed in challenge, but Carl was busy doing a U-Turn with the truck and didn’t see his glare. 

“The fuck are you talking about?”  Mickey barked. 

Never in his life had anyone so openly insinuated anything like that directly to him before.  Where he came from, you would get shot in the face if anyone thought you were gay, and that was if they were being nice.  If they were just your average South Side homophobic fuck, they’d kick your ass and torture you until you wished for death back in some dark alley.  Or, if they were some crazy, drug riddled homophobic asshole prick who also just happened to be your dad, they’d stab you 8 times while kicking the shit out of you, then let you bleed out while they watched.  Or maybe that had just been Mickey’s dad. 

Carl got the truck straightened out and continued to talk, oblivious to Mickey’s growing defensive irritation on the subject.

“Yeah, he came home after dropping you off last night, fuckin’ drinking with me and Lip til like 3 in the morning. Talked about you all night long.   Fiona finally made him take his ass to bed.”  Carl laughed, like it was nothing unusual, his brother coming home and talking about some guy like it was… normal.

“So, how the hell do you get ‘he likes me’ out of that?” Mickey asked, still attempting to deny knowing what Carl was getting at. 

He stared out his window, watching the sunlight come through the trees at sharp angles as they drove down the mountain, avoiding looking in Carl’s direction.  He didn’t know if Carl was looking at him or not, but this conversation was already a thousand times more uncomfortable than he had bargained for and it was making him break out in a brand new sweat all over again.

“Uh, ‘cause he came right out and said, “he’s so damn beautiful I can’t stop looking at him.””  Carl mimicked Ian in a high pitched teenage girl’s voice, sending a heated blush up the back of Mickey’s neck.  Carl laughed as he reached over and punched Mickey lightly in the arm.

“Hey man, it’s cool.  I was just wondering if, you know, you felt the same or something.  I’d hate to see him chasing someone who doesn’t want to get caught.”

Mickey shook his head, trying to make sense of this conversation.  Who the fuck were these people!?   Who Just comes right the fuck out and starts asking someone – no, not ‘someONE,’ but some GUY if they like their brother?  Mickey’s head was spinning just thinking about it.  He sat there, shaking his head in disbelief as they drove, not even aware of what he was doing.

“Oh, shit.  I’m sorry, man.  I shouldn’t have… you know what, just forget what I said.  It’s not a big deal, you know.  Ian gets crushes on people all the time.  Just forget…”  Carl muttered.

“Huh?   What are you talking about?”  Mickey finally looked at him, confused why he was reneging on what he’d said earlier.  “Why would I forget that?”

“I just thought you might be into him.  BUT, if you’re not, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it awkward and all.” 

They drove in silence down the dirt road, the tension heavy between them.  Mickey kicking himself internally, knowing he should say something.  But what?  What could he possibly say?  The Gallagher’s were different, that’s for sure, but he was from an entirely different world.  He had spent his entire life literally hiding one of the most important parts of himself, never getting involved in a relationship for fear that it could literally get him killed.  And now, Carl just wanted to talk about it like they were talking about baseball. It’s not like Mickey had ever been able to blurt out anything he felt whenever he wanted.

“So, yeah… Sorry about bringing that up, Mickey.   Let’s uh…. Let’s just get back and drop of this wood.  Fiona probably has dinner waiting by now.   Then I can take you back to Sheila’s.”

“Yeah, ok.”  That was the end of the conversation. 

Mickey’s thought of a dozen different things he could say to Carl about Ian.  Each scenario ran through his head and the words sat at the tip of his tongue, but none of them seemed to materialize into actual sentences. 

_Yes, I fucking like your brother!  I jacked off to thoughts of him every night since we met!  Being around him makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, what the fuck ever!_

Mickey’s heart was racing, the pounding thumping inside of him much in the same way the dirt road was bouncing around beneath him.  He felt like a drum being beat from both inside and out. 


	22. Who The Fuck Is Trevor?

They pulled to the front drive of the main house but Mickey didn’t move when Carl got out. 

“You ok Mickey?  You look a little drained.”

He nodded his head and reached for the door handle.  He wanted to be as far as he could get from the Gallaghers house right now.  He wanted to be as far as he could get from this whole fucking town, but he was stuck here, with all of them, for who knows how much longer. It was all suddenly too much – too heavy – to walk around knowing people were talking about him and Ian the way Carl had.

Note to Self:  Check with Jimmy the Mechanic in the morning to find out how soon he could escape this place.

They unloaded the wood, then washed for dinner.  It sounded as if twenty more people had arrived by the time Mickey was headed down to the kitchen – all of them talking all at one time.  Mickey was the last to walk in. Everyone was serving themselves buffet style from the counters and finding seats where ever they could.

Fiona went to her usual spot at the end of the long table, setting her food down and looking around to make sure everyone had a dish before she started.  It was just about then that she realized Mickey was in the room. 

“Mickey.”  She said, almost questioningly.  “I didn’t realize you were here.”

A few people nearby turned to look at him, then back to Fiona.  He glanced around the room and back to Fiona.

“Sorry, Carl and I came to unload the wood. I could leave if you need some privacy.”

“No, no, don’t be silly.  I was just surprised, that’s all.”  She looked at Carl and smiled. “There’s plenty of food, and you’re more than welcome to stay.”

The din in the room seemed to quiet down a bit as a few more people began to notice Mickey taking a seat.  Many of them had been the same people from the night before, who had spent hours visiting with him, but now there seemed to be a sudden tension in the room due to his presence.  Fiona diverted her attention over to Vee, hoping not to be too obvious. She spoke loud enough to ensure those around her, particularly Mickey, could hear her.  He was just about to take his first bite of food when Fiona’s words cut through him, sending a lump straight into his throat.

“So Ian has a hot date with Trevor tonight” She said to Vee in her best gossipy sing song voice, wiggling her brows playfully.

Vee jerked her head up to look at Fiona, then took a quick side eyed glanced at Mickey, who thankfully was settling his fork back into his plate but not looking at either of them.  She turned to Fiona confused and a bit mortified that Fiona would say anything about Trevor with Mickey right in front of them.  Hadn’t Ian said he dumped that little ratty boy just last month? 

“Trevor, huh?  That boy again?”  Vee asked carefully, trying to play along with whatever game Fiona was starting.  

They all knew Ian and Mickey had been flirting along the past few days. Everyone in the room had watched the connection between them just the night before, and if that hadn’t been enough, Ian had practically declared his infatuation for Mickey over another bottle of whiskey through the middle of the night.

Mickey’s eyes had shot up, going back and forth between the two friends. 

 _Who the fuck was Trevor!?_  

His blood began to boil just thinking of Ian with anyone else.  His throat closed up tight and he clenched a fist as he waited for someone to say more.

Then it all finally clicked with Vee - the reason Fiona had said that.  She needed Mickey gone, and she couldn’t exactly ask him to leave, but she could say something that might make him leave on his own accord. Vee played along.

“Yeah, Ian needs to come back in a good mood from this trip. He’s been holed up in this place way too long.  When was the last time Trevor was up here for a weekend?”

At that, Mickey stood up abruptly, before waiting to hear Fiona’s answer.

“I… uh…” he looked around the room trying to think of something to say, everyone’s eyes suddenly on him, “I’m sorry, Fiona, to interrupt.  I just remembered I told Sheila I would, uh… I need to go help her with something.  I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

He set his untouched plate of food on the counter and went for the front door.  Carl was quick to follow, giving Fiona a hateful glance as she shrugged her shoulders in a half apology. 

“Mickey, wait up, man.  I’ll drive you.”

As door closed behind them, the chatter in the room started again.  

“The hell was that about, Fiona?”  Kevin asked, gesturing angrily toward the front door.

“What?!  I couldn’t exactly hold this meeting about winter production at the mines with him sitting here, could I? Do you know how hard it is to get everyone down here on the same night so we can go over this ever year?  I needed him gone, and I didn’t want to be rude about it and ask him to leave.”

“You think that wasn’t rude?” Kevin asked. “Did you see the look in that boy’s eyes?  The way he shot out of here?  Ian’s gonna be pissed if you fucked this up for him.” 

“Well… _Shit!_   Yes! I know it was rude, but I can fix that.  I’ll just… I don’t know what, but you know what, he’s gone now, so let’s just do this.” 

She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled for everyone’s attention back to her.  Fiona was nothing if not a supreme bitch when it came to business and running her town, even at the expense of a little bruised heart now and then. 

Kevin walked away, taking his food to a seat across the room next to Jimmy the mechanic, both of them shaking his head in disappointment.   Jimmy sat in his little corner looking at her with the same disappointed look she’d been getting from him for years.  She didn’t miss.  He’d was the owner of a bruised heart of Fiona’s doing a dozen times, and knowing his stupid head, he would be again in the future.  It never stopped him from wondering how she could suddenly be so brutal.

“Ok, everyone shut up!” Fiona called out, pushing away the judgmental eyes that had fallen on her.  “I don’t want to be here all night. Let’s just get through this so I can get to bed.”  She set her glass down on the table, adding, “I didn’t get any sleep last night, and I have no patience right now.” 

***

The truck rumbled down the private drive from the house to the road.  Mickey looked out into the darkness that had fallen quickly around them, his arm resting on the window’s edge as he thumbed at his lip.  It was stupid. He was just being stupid.  He’d barely met Ian a few days ago, so it was fucking stupid to feel this way.  To have his heart pounding in his chest at the thought of Ian with someone else. 

He rubbed his tired eyes and tried to think of something else.  Anything else. Instead, all he saw was Ian kissing some unseen man, their arms wrapped around eachot…

“You doin’ ok?”  Carl asked cautiously.

“Huh?”  Mickey pulled his hands from his eyes where they’d been for longer than he had realized.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.  Just got a headache.” 

They drove in silence back toward town, Mickey’s thoughts a mix of self-loathing and admonition for feeling like such a fucking loser over a guy he’d barely known a few days, along with thoughts of Ian sitting across from _Trevor,_ whoever the fuck that was. 

 _Fuck Trevor!  Fuck him all to fucking hell!_  

Mickey clenched his fist, wanting nothing more than to land it square across Trevor’s face, knocking him the fuck out!

The main road in town was coming into view, with a few of the store fronts still lit up. Carl slowed down more than necessary, and glanced at Mickey, unsure if he should say anything.

“Fiona can be a real bitch sometimes.”  He said.

Mickey’s head bobbed in the truck with the bounce of the truck, but Carl was pretty sure it looked more like a nod of agreement. 

“Those people, back at the house.  They’re like the foreman at the mines, you know?”  Carl was trying to find words to explain, without giving too much information away. “It takes Fiona weeks of planning to get these people together so that they can go over the Winter Plan.  I’m not trying to make excuses for her.  I’m just trying …”

Fuck… what exactly was he trying?  Mickey glanced over at him for the first time since they’d gotten into the truck, and waited for Carl to continue.

“What I said earlier today, about Ian … You know, about him liking you and all.”  He saw Mickey look away again and quickly changed course, “I mean, not that you and Ian are… you know… anything.  But, in case it matters, I know he does.  Like you.”

Carl pulled the truck to the curb in front of the Jackson house. Mickey grabbed for the door handle before the truck had come to a stop.  Carl reached out and touched his arm, which Mickey quickly jerked away before hesitating to hear what more Carl had to say.

“Fiona was just trying to do business tonight.  I should have thought of that before I invited you to stay, so… If you’re gonna be pissed at anyone, it should probably be me.” 

“I’m not pissed at anyone.”  Mickey stated plainly without looking back at Carl.  He slammed the truck door closed and headed for the front door of the house, taking the steps two at a time. 

 

“Oh good!  You’re back.  I made some roast sandwiches for dinner because I wasn’t sure what time you and Carl would be done working, and…”

“I already ate.” He said as he went straight for his room, never even looking at Sheila.  “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, ok.  Ok, dear.   Well… Good night.”  She offered in her sing song sweetened voice. 

He got to his room and it took every ounce of self-discipline not to slam the door and alarm Sheila.  He wanted to slam it!  He wanted to fucking slam the door and start throwing shit around and breaking it, just to feel some kind of fucking release for the anger that was building up inside of him.   He didn’t know if he was angry with Fiona or Carl or Ian or himself, but he was fucking angry!

He walked to the bureau, flinging the drawers open and began pulling his clothes out, ready to pack and get the hell out of this town.  There was no reason for him to be here.  He should have been gone by now, on the road, moving. Moving was the safest thing for him anyway.  He tossed socks and pants and new flannel shirts and cotton undershirts he hadn’t owned until that morning and a fucking parka… what the fuck was he doing with a parka anyway?  He lived his entire life in Chicago, with snow, and not once had he ever had the need to own a stupid fucking parka. He threw it hard against the wall, hoping for some satisfying smashing sound, but instead it hit with a soft thud and fell to the floor.

 _FUCKING GALLAGHERS!!_ he thought, as he looked around at the mess he’d just made with all of his clothes.   Fucking Gallaghers…

Mickey sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.  The knots in his stomach turned as he imagined of his favorite red head again, holding some unseen man. 

His.  Ian was his.  Mickey had already made up his mind, so fuck that other guy.

He rubbed at his face, exhausted from the day and everything the night entailed.  He sat down on the floor, falling back to lay on the pile of clothes that he’d thrown there.  He let out a defeated chuckle as he realized he had no car, no way to leave, and no matter how he sliced it, Ian was still out with some other guy.  He was stuck here with these fucking Gallaghers until god only knew when.


	23. Roast Beef Remedies

“I’m gonna marry him.”  Ian stated, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Ok, two things are wrong with that sentence.  The first one is the “him” part.  Not in this fucking lifetime, sorry little bro.  The second one is who the fuck are we talking about?” 

Lip looked around the restaurant searching the room for whoever it was that had caught Ian’s interest.  When no one stood out, he looked back at Ian and saw the love-sick look still on his face.

“Who, Ian?”

“Mickey.” He stated, as if it were the obvious answer.

“What the fuck?  You mean the thug back at Sheila Jackson’s place?” He laughed, taking a drink from the coffee mug that was filled a quarter of the way with an amber liquid that tasted very much like the whiskey they had just delivered to the back door of the restaurant.

“He’s not a thug.  Stop calling him that.” Ian said, his chin setting stubbornly as he glared at his brother. “Seriously, he hasn’t done anything to you, or any of us for that matter. What is it you hate about him?”

“I don’t hate him. I just don’t trust him, is all.”  Lip dug into the roast and potatoes on his plate, raising his brows at Ian as if waiting for him to challenge the statement.  Ian didn’t disappoint.

“You don’t trust anyone, probably because you’re a fucking criminal yourself so you expect the entire world to be just like you!”  Ian barked.

“Keep your fucking voice down.” Lip said sternly.  “Yeah, maybe that’s the reason.  Or maybe it’s just a feeling I have.  Like he’s hiding something.  I don’t know what it is, but you have your head too far up his ass to see it, so apparently it’s my job to point it out.”

“I wish I had my head up his ass.” Ian muttered as he took a drink.

“Gross!  That’s … just fucking gross, Ian.  I don’t need to know that shit!”

Ian laughed. “Will you be my best man?” 

They both let out a hearty laugh as Lip threw the cloth napkin at Ian. 

“Fuck you.  Where you planning on having this crazy shindig anyway?”

“Maybe at the lake. I’m taking him up there in a few days.”

“Does Mickey at least know you’re planning on marrying him?   You know, in this little fantasy world you live in?  Does he get a say in any of it?”

“Sure, he gets a say.  And no, he doesn’t know yet.”  Ian smirked. 

“You’re a fucking cocky bastard, you know that?” 

Ian let out a hearty laugh and nodded.  He knew.  But he also knew he’d never in his life felt drawn to anyone the way he had been from the minute he finally laid eyes on Mickey.  He was beautiful, he was funny, he was smart, he was perfect, and Ian planned on keeping him. 

Ian was getting anxious just sitting there, knowing they were just hours apart from each other.  He wanted to get back to Gallway as soon as possible to see Mickey.

“What time are the trucks gonna be ready to head back?”  He said, looking at his watch.

“Soon.  Probably should get going.  I wanna get back by morning.”  They took the last sips from their cups and pushed away from the table. 

“The Lake, huh?  That’s a nice place to do it.” Lip said, knowing a real wedding would never happen.

  He patting his brother on the shoulder as they walked out.  Whether or not he liked Mickey, or even trusted him was beside the point.  This was the first time in their lives Ian had ever said anything like that to him before – Married.  Fuck.  His heart went out to his brother and the predicament his love life presented, just for being who he was and loving who he loved.

***

Tap tap tap!  Mickey turned his head toward the door, “Yeah?”

“Are you decent?”  Sheila didn’t wait for a response before opening the door with her eyes closed, holding a tray.  She felt her way to a table just inside the door and set the tray down. 

“I know you said you ate, but just in case you need a little something more to get you through the night.”

“Thanks.”  Mickey muttered, sitting up in the floor.  “I’m decent.  You can open your eyes.” 

He eyed the tray, for the first time feeling his stomach growl as the angry knots unclenched and hunger took over. 

Sheila turned to face him, her face falling into a silent “Oh” of surprise as she saw the state of the room.  Nothing was broken, so that was a plus.  Mickey tried to avoid the questions that were sure to follow.  Sheila didn’t strike him as the type of woman who knew what it meant to mind her own business.  He looked at the sandwich and glass of milk on the tray and hoped she would get on with it, so that he could get to eating.

Instead, she surprised him by moving the tray to the floor beside him, then turning to start picking up the clothes he had strewn around the room.  She folded them carefully, almost gently, and set them back into the drawers neatly.

“I made that roast, even though I was pretty sure you might be gone tonight, but it makes the best sandwiches.  Tomorrow I’ll pack you some sandwiches and you can take that hike up the trail I was telling you about.  It’s such a beautiful walk… and it’s a good place to clear your head.”

Mickey picked up the sandwich and began eating as she continued to clean his room, neither of them acknowledging what might have happened to make him do what he’d done.  Sheila naturally needed to care for someone, it was just who she was.  And right now, Mickey really needed someone to care.  Since his grandfather had passed away years ago, and since Mandy had left Chicago, there had been no one to care about him for a long time, and right now he just fucking needed it. 

“We had a bear in the back once,” She continued mindlessly, pointing out into the back yard.  She took her time as she worked, showing no rush at all to leave the room.  “He came up here on the patio, scared the bejesus out of the young couple that was staying in this room.  They were here on their honeymoon. Well, actually, I’m not even sure they were really married, but you know, I don’t ask those questions.  Love is love, and it’s hard enough in this world to find someone you really love without other people getting in the way of that, so when they told me they were just married, I just nodded my head and gave them this room.”

Mickey watched her as he took slow bites of his sandwich.  She went to stand over by the large window and pointed at the trellis where just the day before he’d caught Ian standing with his can of nails and a hammer as he had bathed. 

“I had to have Ian come and put this trellis in for me, after that.  Just to block off the room a little more.  I know a bear can still get through if they wanted to, but it helps deter them a little, I think.”  Her voice drifted off. 

Mickey could feel her wanting to ask him what had happened that had him so upset, and something in him wanted to tell her. 

“Anyhow, I just don’t know what I’d do without Ian.  He comes here to check on me almost every day, brings me supplies whenever he goes into Denver.  Sits with me on the front porch to have a cold glass of tea when he’s not running himself ragged with the tourists.  He’s such a nice boy. I wish he could find someone who was deserving of all of that.”  She added that last part with a glance at Mickey, as she picked the parka up from the floor.

“Thought he was seeing someone?”  _Damn it.  Damn it!_   Why did he ask that?  Mickey kicked himself for opening his damn mouth.  He took a long drink of milk hoping she would just let it go and forget he’d ever said a word.

“Ian?  Nooo.  No, he’s not.  I would know.  Like I said, he spends a lot of time here, and we talk. I think he talks to me more than his own family – they’re all … busy and caught up in their own thing, so I do my best to listen.  Everyone needs someone to just listen every now and then.  Ian comes here.” 

Sheila piddled about the room, straightening pictures and doilies on each surface now that the clothes had all been put away again.  She walked around the back side of the bed and turned the covers down at an angle, fluffing the pillows and finding anything to keep her busy to stay there with Mickey.

Mickey held the last bit of sandwich in his hand, his belly now satisfied, and his bruised heart feeling slightly better just listening to Sheila talk.  He knew he should just leave the conversation where she’d left it, but something inside him didn’t want to listen to that logic.

“So, then who’s this Trevor guy I keep hearing about?”  He asked against his better judgment. 

His head dropped low and he blinked back the stinging in his eyes.  He didn’t want to know the answer.  What if the answer was something he didn’t want to hear?  He wanted to take it back, to tell her never mind, don’t say a word.  He wanted to walk out of the room before she said anything… but he sat there, weighted down in his seat, unable to move.  He tossed the last of the sandwich back onto the tray, pinching his fingers at his eyes and rubbed his hand down his face. He would hear what she had to say, even if he fucking hated the answer, so that he could stop feeling so damn stupid about someone he hardly knew, and finally get the fuck out of this town.

“Trevor?  Oh, he’s no one.  Not really.  He came around here last spring for a camping trip with some friends.  Ian started hanging out with him a bit.”

Mickey could tell there was something more.  Sheila walked back around to the side of the bed where he was sitting, taking the tray to set on the table near the door again.  She came back and sat next to him on the floor, so closely that he nearly scooted over to give her more space.

She took a deep breath in.

“Ok.” She resolved, ready to set his mind at ease. “Trevor was here in town for just that weekend. He was supposed to go camping and hiking up at the cabins, but once he got here he complained pretty much about everything… the dirt, the food, the people… very unhappy boy.  But, he was, you know… uhm…  well, he and Ian started talking and as it turned out, Trevor was like Ian.”  She peeked at Mickey, with a silent _like you_ sitting on her lips. 

“He never made it to the cabins though.  Ian took the rest of his friends up there, leaving Trevor stranded here, in _my_ house – oh boy, I’ll never forget those four days!  All he did was whine and complain and make me want to pull my hair out.  Anyway, when everyone came back down the mountain, he packed up his things and continued complaining all the way to their car about never coming up here again, but right before they left, he turned to Ian and gave him his phone number.”

Mickey bit at his lip nervously, feeling like a voyeur into Ian’s private life, but wanting to know more.

“After that, Ian saw him sometimes when he went to Denver.  Not all the time – he gets very busy here all season, so really he only saw him a handful of times I think. Sometimes he’d get back here and we’d sit on the porch for our morning coffee or tea, and he’d say he just didn’t have any real interest in seeing that boy anymore.  I think…“ She chose her words very gently, “I think maybe it was just _convenient_ , you know?”

She stood to leave the room, turning one last time to Mickey, speaking more gently than she had before.

“Vee called me, before you got here.  I just thought maybe you should know that Ian broke up with Trevor last month.  I know that for sure.  And I also know that the only person he wants to have a nice quiet dinner with these days is sitting here on the floor, sulking.” 

Mickey looked up at her, her face lit up in a warm motherly smile as she looked back at him.  He couldn’t help but feel the twitch of his own lips as he smiled back at her. 

“You have such a nice smile.”  She said.

She took the tray from the table and closed his door as she left. 

Trevor was a fucking pussy.  That’s who Trevor was, he thought with a smirk on his face as he fell back onto the floor, sated from a delicious roast sandwich and warm conversation.


	24. Sunday Worship

The trucks rolled through the town just before 5 a.m. shaking the ground as they went by.  Mickey sat straight up in bed, reaching under his pillow for a gun that wasn’t there, to kill a bear he was sure must be outside his patio door. It took him a minute to realize the rumbling sound shaking the walls was not a bear. 

He walked out of his room to the front of the house and watched as several large semi trucks brought up the back of a convoy that was driving past, all with a canvas tarps stretched across the back of their loads, and all heading toward the dirt road Mickey and Carl had cleared the day before. 

Sheila walked up next to him in the dark, startling him when she spoke.

“It’s always exciting when the trucks come to town.” She said sleepily. 

“What are they here for?” 

“Supplies, food, equipment, stuff to get through winter. You know, for Winter Season.” She stated.

She turned to go back to her room, yawning as she went, when he asked. “What exactly is Winter Season?  I keep hearing people mention Seasons around here, like they’re not talking about the weather.  What’s that all about?”

They ended up in the living room by the fire with knitted blankets across their laps, cups of hot coffee and warm buttered biscuits in hand as the sun rise.  Sheila explained all about Summer Season, which really ran from mid Spring to late Fall.  Currently they were in what she called their Down Season - in between tourists.  Soon Winter Season would begin and new tourists from the city and Estes would be coming into town to enjoy cross country ski trips, led by Ian of course, and some weekend extravaganza at the Speakeasy.

It was mention of the Speakeasy that had spurred the conversation from a simple two-minute explanation into a two-hour story telling time at the fire.  Sheila told Mickey all about the big names - politicians and Hollywood types who came to Colorado to ski or visit Denver and made their way into Gallway for a little fun. Fiona had opened up the Speakeasy years ago in hopes of finding new income for the town to get them through winter.  There was live music and dancing, and plenty of booze.  Sheila was quick to mention that there was no “sales” of booze… that would be illegal… but if you paid for dances and music, and a small fee at the door, you got the drink tickets for free.

Mickey had been to plenty of Speakeasy haunts in his time, both on business and for pleasure, but he admittedly was surprised to hear that the Gallaghers of all people were running one here deep in the Colorado Mountains.

“That meeting at Fiona’s house last night… that was in preparation for Winter Season.” Sheila offered, hoping Mickey might understand what she was hinting at.

He did.  Fiona needed to talk business, and he had been an unexpected visitor that she needed gone. She had found a shitty way of getting him to leave – shitty but effective.  He nodded and sipped his coffee, feeling all around better about the night before.  In the early morning light, it all seemed a little bit silly now. 

Sheila got up, folding her lap blanket and setting it over the back of her chair.

“I’m going to go get ready for the day.  You sit and enjoy the sunrise.”  She headed for the stairs that led to her room, “Ian will be around today, I’m sure.” She added.  “He came in with the trucks this morning.”

Mickey looked at her as she disappeared up the stairs.  Ian was back.  Mickey’s stomach did a little flip of happiness and he didn’t even give a flying fuck.  Ian was back.

***

All dressed and ready to work, Mickey sat in the living room thumbing through an old Life Magazine.

“Mickey, do you think you might give me a hand?” He stood to face Sheila and her face immediately pinched up in a disapproving look. 

“Oh, honey, you can’t dress like that today.  It’s Sunday.  Come on, I pressed a clean shirt for you.”  She took him buy his arm and led him to his room, pointing out a dark blue button-down shirt hanging in the wardrobe. 

“This will be perfect, and it brings out that sparkle in your eyes.”  She added.  

He looked at her, surprised by her candor. 

“Get dressed.  Jeans are fine.”  She left the room leaving him feeling like a little kid whose mother had just set him straight.

When he returned to the foyer Sheila already had a sweater on and was handing him the keys to her car.  “You drive.  It makes me nervous.”

Her car was an older model sedan, but in pristine condition.  Clearly, she seldom drove it as the odometer showed it had less than 10,000 miles on it.  “Where are we going, exactly?”

“Sunday worship.”  Mickey looked at her in a panic, which wasn’t lost on Sheila. “Oh, don’t worry.  It’s not the kind of Sunday worship you’re probably used to.”

In truth, Mickey could only remember one other time he’d been to church on purpose, and that was for his grandfather’s funeral.  He’d sat in the pew that day listening to the priest speaking in his grandfather’s native Ukrainian tongue, with Mandy next to him.  Both of them feeling anxious in the front of the church knowing all eyes were on them. 

They had been the only family in the room. All of the other attendees were neighborhood acquaintances or business associates.  Mickey had been working for the Feds three years by that point, and while his grandfather hadn’t been a made man with the mafia, he was tied closely enough to the Outfit so that many of the men in the room had kept Mickey at a distance. 

Mickey started the car and drove, following Sheila’s direction.  They ended up at an open field that looked as if a large portion of it had recently been planted over with crops but now lay bare.  Tables were set up near the tree line with a river running at the far end of the field.  There were hundreds of people setting plates of food on the tables, and blankets on the ground to sit on.  He helped Sheila unload the food they had brought, his eyes darting around the mall of people looking for bright red hair. 

Spotting some of the Gallaghers in conversation with a group of people Mickey didn’t recognize, he moved in that direction hoping to see Ian.  Sheila caught his arm as he wandered off.

“Here.  Go set these blankets down over there.”  She pointed off in the opposite direction of the Gallaghers. 

He took the blankets and a basket from her, and walked away from the Gallaghers disappointedly, to set their things in a sunny spot near the open field.

Once set up, he laid back onto one of the blankets and let the warm fall sun soak into his bones. He had been laying there just a few minutes when the sound of a loud bell chimed, bringing the conversations around him to a hushed whisper.  Mickey sat up and followed everyone’s gaze to a tall black man standing on top of one of the truck beds.  Everyone moved closer to hear what he had to say.

“Good morning. Let us take a moment to offer peace and love to those with us today, and to send our love to the Morgenson family, who lost their beloved husband, father and grandfather this week. Johnathon will be sadly missed. May his memories warm and heal your hearts.”

The old man in the truck bed bowed his head, and everyone did the same, taking the hand of the person standing next to them. Mickey’s lowered his head just enough to still be able to peek up at everyone around him.

“This fine day, we lift our hearts in joy, releasing all that has brought us pain and sorrow back to Mother Earth. We offer gratitude for the rainy days and for the sunshine, both of which brought us a bountiful harvest this year. We offer love and healing to those who have caused us pain… and to those we have hurt. May we be so fortunate to allow forgiveness to enter our hearts, for ourselves and for others. Let us remind ourselves that each of us is worthy and has something beautiful to bring to this world. And let us be grateful for all that we are given as well as that which is taken from us, opening the way for new adventures in our life. May we continue to be our best each day and to be the face of love in this world. Love is greater than hate. Love is peaceful. Love is joyful. Love is forgiveness. Love is gratitude. Love is love…”

The congregation replied in unison, “Love is love.”

Mickey watched as everyone raised their heads and went about with the conversations they had been engaged in moments before.  That was it – Sunday worship.  A prayer of gratitude and love.  If church had been like this when he was growing up, maybe he would have attended more often.

He lay his head back on the blanket and thought about the simple words that were just spoken.  Gallway Falls was nothing if not completely complex and simply surprising all at the same time.  The people here were … different.  He had come into this town a week ago thinking it was nothing more than a mile long dead end tourist trap, but the longer he was here, the more it started to feel like a place he could call home.

“Hi Mick.”

Even with his eyes closed, Mickey saw the shade of Ian’s body blocking the sun, and his mouth moved into a smile that he couldn’t have kept off his face if he wanted to.


	25. The Aspen Trail

Food and his favorite brunette sitting at his side left Ian all smiles on that beautiful Sunday afternoon.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even wanted to come to Sunday Worship.  It wasn’t that he hated it or anything – just that he’d much rather spend a day hiking or fishing.  That was his way of getting closer to ‘god.’ And wasn’t that what this day was about, getting closer to God? 

The Gallaghers had always been vague on what god was exactly.  Growing up in a family of gold miners and whiskey makers, their roots were based in hard work and a little bit of debauchery, but seldom in the stronghold of religion.  Religion to them had always been more about how they treated others, the gratitude they showed for the hard work they had been given, and the love they could give and receive in these hard times.  God wasn’t a person beyond them, it was within them.

Ian’s god had always been on the mountain.  The fresh air, the blue skies, the deep snow in the winter time, the deep lake, the rush of the river.  So on Sundays, he spent his time getting as close to god as he could, and let the mountain heal him.   Today was the first day he had actually attended the town’s worship in more than a year.  Fiona had looked at him curiously, with a smile on her face as he’d come into the kitchen, dressed in more than climbing gear for the day.

“Where ya goin’ lookin’ all spiffy like that?” She’d asked, knowing darn well where he was going.

“Thought I’d come by and grab some food today.”  He’d said, using the massive amounts of food that would be at worship as his excuse.

Fiona laughed, then suddenly remembered what she had said to Mickey the night before.  She knew Vee had called Sheila – she had been the one to ask Vee to make that call – but she wasn’t sure how Mickey was feeling about seeing Ian this morning. 

“So, listen, Ian.  Something happened last night that I need to tell you…”

There had been a bit of yelling and screaming for the next ten minutes, with Lip and Carl nodding their head in agreement every time Ian called Fiona some horrible name, admonishing her for what she’d done.  She took each insult with a nod of her head and let him speak his mind before finally saying her peace.

“I’m sorry.  I acted rashly, and realize that.  I have no excuse for it other than I needed to get on with our meeting and I needed him gone.  I’m Sorry.   Ian, look at me.  I’ll fix this, ok?  If he’s there… even if he’s not there.  I’ll fix this and make him understand.”

Ian took off, not waiting for anyone else.  He needed to walk and clear his head.  He’d been up most of the night, getting about three hours of sleep after they’d pulled the trucks into town, only to find out that his sister had been meddling in his life and fucking things up.  He slammed the back door hard as he left the house, making Lip, Carl, and Fiona jump at the way it shook the large house.

Lip took his coffee mug and headed for the stairs, glancing back at Fiona with disappointment, “You know what he told me last night?”

She didn’t want to know. She really really didn’t want to hear whatever it was Lip was about to say. She dropped her head and waited for another verbal beating that he obviously was waiting to give her. 

 “Said he wanted to marry him.  I mean, I know that’s kind of stupid and all since he barely knows him… but when was the last fucking time you heard him say anything like that before?”

Fiona looked up at Lip, her eyes pleading for forgiveness.  “I’ll fix this.  I promise.”

“You fuckin’ better.”

Ian walked the five miles to the open field, arriving about the same time as many others were driving up.  He found a spot at the far end of the river out of sight, watching as tables were being set up and thought about what Fiona had told him.  How could she do that?

He watched as more and more people arrived, trying to see past the crowd that was gathering looking for Sheila’s car and any sign of Mickey.  It was impossible to see through the people at this point, so he began to make his way around the field, not wanting to be noticed. It wasn’t like anyone there would miss him if he didn’t show up, but they would be sure to point him out if they saw him, considering his regular absence each week.

Soon, he noticed Griffin making his way with a little help to the bed of the truck and all the towns people pulling closer to listen to the Sunday prayer.  It was the same every week, with a small comment added in.  Today Griffin offered condolences for the loss of a loved one.  There had been no official funeral for him.  Just a few of the Gallaghers and his family at his gravesite, and words of love and support offered to the family by anyone they passed in town.

Ian had moved about a hundred feet or so from the crowd, his heart feeling heavy and tired, and not at all appreciative in the spirit of the prayer that was being offered.  He was about to disappear back into the tree line and leave when he noticed Mickey sitting alone with his head tilted slightly upward as he watched the crowd. 

Ian’s heart warmed just from the sight of him.

“Love is love…” The prayer ended and everyone went back to milling around the grounds.  Mickey laid back on the blanket soaking in the sun.  He looked peaceful … beautiful… lying there.  Ian’s stomach flipped nervously as he thought that perhaps Mickey might not want to see him right now.  Not after what Fiona had done.  But he’d never know unless he tried.

He moved so that his shadow covered Mickey’s eyes, blocking the sun. 

“Hi Mick.”

Mickey’s face lit up in a smile before he opened his eyes, and Ian’s face immediately reflected the same smile.

“Firecrotch.”  He replied, making Ian laugh out loud. 

His laughter was the sweetest fucking sound Mickey had ever heard.  He leaned up on his elbows and looked up at Ian.  His bright red hair like fire with the sun lighting it from behind.  

"God, please tell me what I have to do to make you stop calling me that." Mickey slid over on the blanket, making room for Ian to sit.

As it turned out, Sheila had picked the perfect spot to set their blankets down away from the crowd in a quiet little corner of the field.  And it wasn’t lost on Mickey that she never come over to join him and Ian.  Instead she found a seat with another group much farther away, giving Ian and Mickey almost complete privacy.  Once or twice she looked over and caught Mickey looking back at her, giving him a quick little smile before turning back to her own group.

Gratitude.  Mickey suddenly had a deep appreciation for Sunday Worship time.

After filling their bellies with food, Ian stood to fold up the blankets.

“Come on.  I want to show you something.” 

They carried the blankets and basket back to Sheila’s car, oblivious to the many eyes and smiling faces that followed them as they walked away from the crowd, including Fiona’s.  She smiled with watery eyes as she watched her brother leaving, swallowing a lump in her throat, happy to see that perhaps things had worked themselves out after all.  She’d still need to apologize to Mickey at some point, but now was not the time.

“Where are we going?” Mickey asked as they strolled closer to the river.

“Just walking.  It’s a nice day.”

They didn’t talk for a while.  Butterflies filled Mickey's stomach, the palms of his hands getting clammy. He bit at his lip nervously, catching Ian’s glances each time he looked over. Mickey wanted to ask him about his trip to Denver. He wanted to know who the fuck Trevor was too, but he knew he couldn't. Even though Carl and Sheila had done their best to settle his doubts, they were still there. So instead, he decided to just let it go for now and enjoy the fact that Ian was here, with him, but he kept a bit of distance between him and Ian as they walked. If Ian wandered in his direction, he moved as well. Eventually Ian stopped wandering closer and just accepted that Mickey needed that space. For the time being the silence was at the very least not too awkward. 

“Carl came out here last week and blew that beaver dam to shit.”  He laughed, and pointed out the remainder of broken branches lining the river bed with remnants of the dam all around.  “He took some dynamite from the store.  Fiona nearly killed him for it.”

Mickey laughed, “Yeah, I remember that.” Ian looked at him curiously.  “I was there, at the store when you came out and told her he took off with the dynamite.”

Ian traced his memories back to that day.  He vaguely remembered someone being in the store, but hadn’t paid any attention to who it was.  How could he possibly have missed Mickey?  He kicked himself, knowing he could have known this man a whole 24 hours longer if he had just paid attention. 

“Really? I can’t believe I didn’t see you there.” He said quietly.

“Yeah.  I’m not exactly memorable, I guess.  Ran into you the next day too – or rather, you ran into me.”  Mickey thumbed at his lip looking off in another direction, missing the shocked look that crossed Ian’s face. 

Ian led him across a narrow part of the river, jumping along two giant boulders in the water.  They headed up into the mountain, climbing along a dirt path that ran parallel to a string of white barked trees.

“Where was that?” Ian finally asked as he gave up trying to place the second time he had missed Mickey.

“Sheila’s place.  You came up the stairs cussing up a storm.  Pissed off over the boiler.  Nearly fuckin’ put me through a wall as you went out the door.”

“Oh shit!”  Ian remembered that now.

Some asshole had been standing in his way as he tried to leave. He’d meant to go back and apologize for his rudeness, but in all honesty he was so mad that he just didn’t care what impression he’d left at the moment. 

“That was you?”

“Ha!  Yeah.  That was me.  Like I said, I’m not exactly memorable, I guess.”

Ian stopped short and looked at Mickey, who stopped after a step or two. 

“I think you are.”  He said.

They stayed there, staring at each other for a heartbeat or two before Mickey started walking again. 

“Does this actually lead to anything?”  He pointed at the barely visible dirt path. 

“See these trees?”  Ian tugged at one of the near bare aspen trees they were passing.  “If you follow them up, it will take you to a lake.  It’s sort of a secret trail.  I’ve been planting these trees here since I was a kid.”

Mickey looked around and realized that there was a very distinct trail of aspens about every fifty feet or so going up the mountain.  All the other trees around were evergreens, pines, but there were no other aspens.

“You did this? How long did that take you?”

“Fifteen years.  It’s not done yet.  Got about a quarter mile up at the top that still needs some trees.  I’ll get to them next spring.  If you ever want to go for a nice long walk, this is the trail to take.”

They didn’t walk all the way up that day, just far enough to take in some of the most spectacular views Mickey had ever seen in his entire life.  And the mountain views weren’t bad either.  Mickey was struggling to breath in the thin mountain air, so he had kept the talking to a minimum.  Ian did most of the talking, mostly about the history of the area, giving Mickey his own private hiking tour.  

Ian explained the history of both coal and gold mining in the area.  He told Mickey about the Gallagher gold mine – it was just about mined out at this time, and unless they were willing to invest a shitload of money into excavating it further it had become just another deep man-made cave in the mountain side at this point. 

By the time they made it back to the open field, there was no sign of the gathering that had taken place that morning.  Everything was cleared and cleaned just as if there hadn’t been hundreds of people there hours before.  Mickey was amazed at how clean they had left it.  A gathering of that size in Chicago would have left the area littered with trash, leaving cleaning crews to clean for hours, if they bothered to clean up at all.

His legs were tired and his back was aching as they neared the road, but there was no car in sight to take them back to town, so he just followed along behind Ian as they headed back to town. They walked side by side, close enough to tap shoulders, even though they were walking down the middle of wide roads.  Ian wanted to grab Mickey’s hand.  He wanted to just grab Mickey in general and lay a kiss on him, but even after their hike, things still felt a bit on edge.  He knew he was going to have to address the Trevor issue eventually, but it had been such a perfect day, so he decided to wait. 

“We can go back to the house first, then I’ll drive you to Sheila’s if you want.”  They turned up the familiar dirt drive of the Gallagher’s place.  “You wanna stay for dinner?”  Ian looked at Mickey hoping he would say yes.

“Sounds good.”

As they walked in the front of the house, Ian called out, “Fi.  Mickey’s staying for dinner.  We’re gonna get cleaned up.” 

She smiled as they went up the front stairs, Lip raising his brows at her, “You lucked out on that.”

“Yep.  I know.  Won't happen again.” She said, crossing her heart.


	26. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys are starting to really piss me off.

Fiona’s apology consisted of a friendly glance and an apologetic smile as Mickey entered the kitchen, and his acceptance of it came as a small nod as he took a seat at the table already set for dinner.  It was enough, Fiona knew, as long as she didn’t pull that shit again.

Within minutes the table was alive with chatter as everyone passed bowls of food around the table.  Vee and Kevin were there again.  Mickey was quickly realizing they were a staple in the Gallagher home.  Jimmy the mechanic was there too.  He wanted to ask how the truck repairs were coming, and yet he secretly hoped they weren’t coming along at all.   He decided he would ask about it tomorrow.   There was another place set as well, with an empty seat, but before he could wonder who it was set for, an older, inebriated, leather worn man came stumbling into the room.

“Food!  Good.  I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal.” He pulled the chair out from the table, scraping it along the floor with a screech.

“Uh, last Sunday.  You know, seven days ago, when you sat in that exact same seat and said the exact same thing?” Lip stated sarcastically, looking at the man with disdain.

“Lip, that’s enough.” Fiona said.  “Mickey, this is Frank.  Frank, Mickey.  He’s our…”

“I’m the owner of this outfit, that’s who I am.”  Frank stated as he grabbed for a plate of chicken. “My house, my goddamned town, my money, my businesses, my…”

“Shut up, Frank!” Everyone said in unison, making Mickey glance around the table curiously.

“Ignore him. He’s not the head of anything anymore.” Ian said, his voice as bitter as Lip’s had been a moment earlier.  “Just a drunk old man that won’t fucking die.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father?” Frank said with hardly any effort or bite in his voice at all, as if he really didn’t have a solid argument.

“Just eat your dinner Frank, so we can ship you back to your cabin for the week.  I packed up some food and extra blankets to take with you.” Fiona said

They all got back to a regular conversation, acting as if Frank wasn’t present at the table any longer.  They kept his cup filled with whiskey, and shut him down every time he opened his mouth to speak.  Eventually he cursed them all as he stumbled his way to the front porch with the remaining bottle of whiskey, to await his ride back up the mountain.

 

Ian put away the last of the dishes as Mickey wiped down the table.  They were the last two in the kitchen having offered to clean up after dinner.  Ian thought it was the best way to delay Mickey’s departure for the night, and Fiona had taken him up on the offer considering he argued almost any other time she asked him to clean up.

“So, Frank.”  Mickey stated, with a little chuckle.

Ian smiled, knowing this conversation would eventually come up again.  “Yeah.  Frank.”  He turned to Mickey and leaned against the counter.  “He’s somethin’.”

Mickey came to stand in front of Ian, tossing the dish rag into the sink, the space between them less than a few feet.  He braved a glance into Ian’s face and found Ian looking back.  Mickey bit his lip and Ian’s eyes followed.

“He’s…” Ian said quietly, trying to think of something to say as Mickey drove him crazy biting his lip. “He’s uh… “ 

Mickey took a step closer, closing the distance between them to only a few inches.

“He’s what?”  Mickey’s eyes on Ian’s.  Ian’s still taking in the curve of Mickey’s thick, freckled lips.

He pulled himself from his reverie, “He’s an asshole.  Hasn’t really been a productive member of this town for … god, as long as I can remember.  He’s just a drunk.  But Fiona still tries, you know.”

Mickey dared to move even closer, the space between them so close that they were almost touching.

“I got a shit dad, too.  Probably would make yours look like Citizen of the Year.”

Ian let out a little laugh, possibly at the idea of anyone making Frank look like an upstanding citizen… or possibly from the nerves now playing on him with Mickey standing so that there was barely a breath of air between them now.  Their eyes met and held each other.

“I can’t imag…”  That’s all Ian got out.  Mickey’s lips met his and shut the last of the sentence up immediately.  His lips were soft and warm and everything Ian had imagined they might be like and more.  Mickey’s hand came up to cradle Ian’s face, his other arm reaching around Ian’s waist to pull him closer.

Ian could barely breathe.  He reached his arms around Mickey pulling him closer, closing any remaining distance that stood between them.  His tongue grazing Mickey’s lips, and Mickey responding in kind, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.  They stood there alone in the kitchen, holding each other tightly, tasting each other for what felt like hours, but had really only been a moment, before -

“Shit, shit!  I’m sorry.  Sorry, I’ll go…” Lip exclaimed.

He turned to leave the room hitting the door frame as he went, essentially breaking Ian and Mickey from their kiss.  Mickey instinctually went to pull away as he took a step back from Ian, but Ian was having none of that. His arms pulled Mickey back firmly.  He glanced down at him briefly, with a reassuring smile on his face, then back at his stumbling brother who was escaping the room.

“It’s ok, Lip.  I was just about to take Mickey back to Sheila’s.”  Mickey looked at Ian quickly, his disappointment not lost in his glance. “You ready to go?” 

He let go of Mickey’s waist, reaching for his hand immediately and leading him out the back door. 

Mickey followed, acutely aware of the fact that Ian was holding tight to his hand.  He’d never held anyone’s hand before.  His heart was racing in his chest as they descended the back steps.  This was all suddenly a lot to take in.  He’d never initiated a kiss before either.  For that matter, he had generally made it a rule just to stay the fuck away from kissing all together when he hooked up with anyone.  No need to get their hopes up thinking that a good fuck was anything more than a good fuck, but here he was letting this red head lead him around by the heart and the hand like a puppy on a string.

“Wait!  Wait a minute.”  Mickey jerked his hand from Ian’s and stopped walking. 

Ian turned around confused, and looked at Mickey.  The moon was out enough tonight so that he could see Mickey’s wide-eyed stare, filled with panic as he bit and thumbed at his lip nervously. 

“Everything ok, Mick?”

There it was again – _Mick._ Where the fuck did Ian get off calling him that? Mickey shook his head, frustrated both with himself and with Ian. He actually kind of loved when Ian called him Mick, but right now it seemed to be grating at his nerves.

Mickey shook his head, trying to shake the foggy thoughts that wouldn't form clearly anyway.  He looked at the line of cabins around the perimeter of the property, and at the fire pit just out a bit in the yard.  He looked everywhere at everything, except back at Ian, as he stood there clenching his fists at his side. 

What the fuck was wrong with him?   This was a good thing, right?  Ian was a good thing.  He wanted to want this, but 29 years of being told this was wrong… not just the kiss, not the holding hands, but all of it. 

He heard the words again in his brain – the words that had haunted him for more than half his life – _fucking little piece of shit faggot motherfucking shit stain pole smoker… -_

Ian noticed Mickey’s heavy, erratic breathing, and reached his hand out toward him.

“Mickey.  Mickey, you ok?  Talk to-”  his hand barely touched Mickey’s shoulder, causing Mickey to jump back away from his touch and slap his hand away.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Mickey barked.  Ian pulled his hand away and held them both up at his sides in surrender.

“Hey, what’s going on?  Mickey, talk to me?  Come on, man, you’re scaring me.  Just … breathe, ok?”

He heard Ian.  He knew how ridiculous this must look, but the panic attack that was building up inside of him was something he couldn’t control.  There was a deep-seated fear inside of him that was surfacing, and he didn’t know how to push it back down. 

Lip.  Lip had seen them.  Who else? Carl knew.   So did Sheila. _Fuck!_    People in town had looked a them like they knew.  Fiona, and Vee, and Kev… Mickey began walking away, then turned back, pacing like a caged animal. 

Ian took a step every time he walked way, and another step back when Mickey turned again.  Mickey took deep breaths, running his hand through his hair.

 _It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok,_ he repeated inside of his head. 

“It’s ok.” He whispered out loud, unaware the words had escaped his mouth.

“What’s ok?”

Mickey turned to face Ian, eyes wide as he realized he’d said it out loud.  He stopped pacing, with about fifteen feet between them. He took another deep breath.  Ian was taking him in carefully, not moving, and just waiting for Mickey to answer.

He bit his bottom lip again.

 _It’s ok… it’s ok…_   _I’m ok._

He didn’t answer out loud.  He just stood there, mindfully breathing in deeply, then out again as he kept his eyes on Ian’s.  Blue on green.  This wasn’t his father.  Ian had never tried to kill him for who he was.  It was ok, he reminded himself.

“What’s ok, Mick?” 

Mickey took four quick steps toward Ian, Ian matching him and meeting him in the middle, their arms reaching for each other and pulling the other in as their lips met again.  Their kiss was heated and desperate and deep.  Ian held Mickey close but making sure to give him a little room to move, but Mickey was having none of that.  He pulled Ian in tight against him, his smaller body fitting into each space of Ian’s body as closely as he could get. 

 _What the actual fuck_ … Mickey’s mind spun as Ian kissed him.  He had never wanted to feel this way.  Never dreamed he would feel this way, and yet here he was, holding Ian in the dark night wanting nothing more than to stay right here for fucking ever.

Ian broke the kiss first, coming up for air but still holding Mickey close.

“Is this ok?” he asked nervously, finally beginning to understand the internal struggle he’d just witnessed before him.  Not everyone had the freedom in their lives the way Ian always had - to be able to love and be loved by someone.  He recognized that immediately in Mickey’s moment of panic. 

Mickey’s forehead rested on Ian’s chin as he nodded.  Yes.  Everything was ok.  Everything would be ok, Mickey thought.  If he could just stay right here, in this exact spot forever with Ian, then everything would be ok.

Ian took a step, pulling Mickey back toward the house.  “What are you doing?”  Mickey asked, the panic coming back into his voice as he pulled away.

“Stay.  With me.”  Ian said.

Mickey looked at the house.  There were people in there.  He couldn’t do it.  He wanted to, but every muscle in his body felt the need to run from that house right now.  He shook his head. 

“I gotta go.”  He headed for the truck.  Ian watched as he walked away, then went after him.  If Mickey needed to leave, Ian would take him.  He didn’t want to push Mickey or make him feel uncomfortable.

“Ok.  I’ll take you back, Mick.”

“No.  Stay.  I need to walk.”


	27. You Like Nuts?

Mickey woke up the next morning before the sunrise with every muscle in his body aching.  Holy hell, what had he done to himself.   He slowly rolled his body to the side as it all came back to him – a day of cutting up a giant ass tree and moving it from the road followed by a long mountain hike he was neither mentally or physically prepared for.  But then the rest came back as well.  Ian.  He had kissed Ian last night. 

He felt the heat of blush creep up his neck as he remembered how bold he had been in the kitchen when he first tasted Ian’s lips.  That triumphant feeling drowning him, then quickly fading when he remembered what had come next – Lip, holding Ian’s hand, a near full blown panic attack.  Mickey pulled the extra pillow on the bed over his head and groaned. 

 _Fuuuuuck_. But it hadn’t ended like that. 

It had ended with another kiss.  A better kiss - if that was even possible. But then Mickey had run off like a flustered school girl after her first kiss.  He hated himself right then.  What a fucking idiot he was.  Ian had asked him to stay, and he ran off like a fucking idiot.  Mickey pulled his legs in close, feeling his toes curl beneath the blankets as he pushed away the embarrassment of the whole thing.  Then he thought of the way it had felt to hold Ian close, like he had belonged to Mickey. Like Mickey belonged to him. 

Mickey’s eyes were open beneath the pillow, the dark surrounding him, but visions of Ian were clear before him.  His mind ran away with him, imaging what it would be like to open his eyes in the morning and see his red head lying next to him. He hadn't realized he was smiling, like a fucking idiot, until the muscles in his jaws ache as much as the rest of his body did.

***

Fiona woke to the sounds of shuffling, drawers opening and closing, and someone trying to recover from a muffled _Ouch!_ down the hall.  She walked into Ian’s room and found him filling a backpack with clothes and supplies as he moved around the room frantically to get it all prepared.

“Hi Sweetface.  Whatcha doing?” She asked, rubbing her tired eyes and yawning.

“Packing. Heading up to the cabins today, remember?”

“Oh, that’s today.  I forgot.”  She watched him grab extra flannels and underwear from his drawer.  “How long you planning to be gone?  Looks like you’re packing an awful lot for a day trip.”

“Not gonna drive.  I’m taking Mickey up.  We’re hiking, so I’ll probably be back on Thursday.”  He finished stuffing the last of the items into his pack, lifting the weight to test it on his back.  He’d carried heavier, so it should be fine.

“Mickey?  Good.  Did you guys get everything figured out then?” She asked cautiously.

“We didn’t talk about that.”  He looked at her pointedly. “We’re fine.” 

Ian slung the pack around his shoulder and hitched it up onto the other arm, bouncing a little to test the weight again.  He went to his closet and grabbed a rifle and some shells, then another handgun, tucking it into the back of his waist.

“Ok.  Well, then I guess I’ll get out of your way.   You want me to send Carl or Lip up for you if the snow comes in?”

He wanted to tell her no.  He and Mickey would just stay up there and wait it out, but he knew that was stupid.  At this time of year, one good snow could trap you in the cabins for another three months.  It wasn’t likely, but still possible. He let out a deep sigh, and resigned to the idea. 

“Yeah fine, but if it snows, don’t send them until Friday.  I’ll take Mickey out snowshoeing or something.”

“Sounds good.  Give him the full Colorado adventure while he’s here.” 

She heard the words in the same way Ian had – _while he’s here –_ and felt them cut deep.

“That’s… I didn’t mean anything by that, Ian.”

“Sure.”  He grabbed a light jacket and headed for the door.  “Carl’s gonna drop some stuff at the cabin for me today. Any chance you might be making some biscuits you can send?  There’s probably nothing in the cupboards left up there.”

“Yeah, of course.  I’ll make some food and send whatever you need, you just go and enjoy the hike.”

He leaned in and kissed the top of her head, “Thanks, Fi. I’m gonna leave my truck at the trail head.  You can send Lip for it later if you need it.  If not, I should be back Thursday.”

***

Mickey had just finished dressing, his room in its general disarray, when he heard Ian’s voice coming down the hallway toward him. 

“No, it’s ok Sheila.  I’ll find him.”

He opened the bedroom door and slunk inside quickly, closing it behind him while Sheila protested behind him.

“Ian, he might not be up yet!”  She was calling in a loud whisper, but it was too late.

Ian turned around to see Mickey standing by the bureau, folding up the sleeve of his shirt to his elbows, straightening himself out with a sly smile on his lips as he pretended not to be surprised by Ian’s abrupt interruption.  They both glanced at the door as Sheila continued to whisper through the door, then back at each other.

“Morning.”  Mickey cocked his head, giving Ian a once over with his eyes as he bit his lip.

“Hi Mick.  You look nice.”  Mickey brushed lint from his shirt and played at the cuffs of his folded sleeve again, watching Ian watching him.  “Going somewhere?”

“Nope.”  Mickey stopped fussing with his shirt, and tucked his hands into his pants pockets, entertained by the way Ian seemed suddenly shy standing inside his bedroom door.  He had flown past Sheila to get in here, but it seemed like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he was standing in front of Mickey.  “C’mere.” 

Mickey closed the distance between them, leaving a soft kiss on his lips, his hand cradling Ian’s face close to him.  His blue eyes opened to see Ian’s still closed as they rested nose to nose.  Mickey placed another chaste kiss on Ian’s lips. Ian’s arms circled around him. He moved his face, nuzzling at Mickey’s cheek and hair, taking in a deep breath.  He smelled like the lavender soap Sheila had in each of the bathrooms with a hint of something uniquely Mickey. 

“God, you smell nice.” Ian’s eyes flung open, wide with embarrassment when he realized he had said the words out loud.

Mickey huffed out a little laugh at that. He pulled back from Ian’s embrace and ran a thumb across his lips slowly, still feeling Ian’s lips there. 

“I wasn’t sure if we were working today or not, so I just got dressed in these… but I can change if I need to.”

Ian looked at the clothes Mickey had on.  What a shame it was to ask him to change – he looked hotter than hell in the black slacks and dark green shirt he was wearing.

Ian cleared his throat nervously when he realized he’d been staring blatantly at the Mickey's ass for too long. 

“Uh, yeah.  You might need to change.  Fiona mentioned she got you outfitted for a hike.”

Outfitted… _Outfitter_.  Huh.  Mickey finally made the connection between the name of the store and the its purpose.  

“Yeah, she did.  Are we hiking someplace?” His sore muscles were screaming for a bit of mercy, but his greedy little heart told his muscles to shut the hell up and waited for Ian to say Yes.

“Yes.  I thought we could head to the cabins today.  I need to get them winterized.  We could drive up if you want, and I could get you back here this evening, or maybe tomorrow morning.  Or, we can hike, but then we won’t be back until Thursday or Friday,”  H silently prayed Mickey would want to hike. “If that’s ok.  I mean.  We could definitely drive-”

Mickey spoke so quickly it was almost embarrassing, “Hike!  Let’s hike.” 

“Ok!  Let’s get your gear packed.” 

***

They followed the same trail they had walked the day before, following the aspens up the mountain.  This time instead of just two hours up the trail, they continued for another three hours, taking several breaks along the way so that Mickey could catch his breath.  He kept saying he was fine, didn’t need a break, but Ian kept reminding him that altitude sickness was a real thing, and the breaks were necessary for both of them.  Mickey knew they were really only necessary for him, and he was silently grateful for every single one of them.

About four hours in they stopped to eat the lunches that Sheila had packed for them. 

“I have a question.”  Mickey said in between bites. 

He and Ian were leaned against a giant boulder, side by side, knees bent up in front of them, touching every now and then. 

“What exactly do you have in that giant ass backpack of yours? I feel like I’m underprepared here.”  He pointed over at his pack which was less than half the size of Ian’s back.

“I don’t know.  Extra clothes, some emergency tools in case we need them, first aid shit, snacks...”

“Snacks?”   Mickey looked at him worriedly.  “Ok, I was hoping you might say _food_ since you said we’re gonna be there a few days, so by snacks I hope you mean like fried chicken or something?”

Ian laughed, pushing his knee and shoulder into Mickey, and Mickey bumping him back.

“No.  No chicken. Sorry.  But I have some nuts if you want them.” He eyed Mickey with a crooked smile.

“Nuts?”  Mickey wondered how they were going to survive for 4 days on nuts, completely missing the innuendo.

“What’s the matter Mick, you don’t like nuts?”  Ian’s lips curled up in a coy smile as Mickey stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and laughed. 

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?”

Ian got up and began bagging up the trash from their lunch.  He reached his arm out, helping Mickey to his feet, pulling him in close to his body as he stood, then kissed him slowly before letting him go again. 

“We should get moving.”

Mickey groaned at the idea of hiking more, his muscles hurting more than he was willing to admit.  Ian slung his own pack over his back, then reached down to grab Mickey’s and helped slide it onto his back.  He took a moment to get it strapped on properly, amused as Mickey watched him securing the straps.

“I feel like a toddler being sent out into the world with my mom getting me all ready for the day.”

“Mickey…” Ian tucked Mickey’s shirt into his jeans so it would be snug under the straps of the pack, “Please don’t ever refer to me as your mother again.  Ever.”

He gave Mickey a quick peck on the temple then a pinched his cheek in a very motherly way, then turned away with a grin on his face. They started up the mountain again.

The last hour of the hike left Mickey feeling a little disoriented, not sure which direction they were traveling any longer.  There were no aspens up there to mark the path, but Ian moved along at a sure pace, knowing exactly where to lead them.

“Where are your trees?” Mickey asked.

“Haven’t gotten them planted up here yet.  Maybe this spring.  It’s hard to uproot them from another location and bring them here because there’s only a short window during spring to get it done.” 

Ian turned to look at Mickey coming up about ten feet behind him.  He explained that each tree had to be uprooted near the river at just the right time, and replanted so that it would survive in its new location, and it took several hours for even one or two trees to be moved. He showed Mickey the natural landmarks of boulders and ridges to follow along the way which would lead to the lake at the top. 

“I get pretty busy come spring, and there’s not really anyone else who’s willing to help me so it’s taken me a long of time.”

The words were sitting there on the tip of Mickey’s tongue.  He could help.  Spring was just … he counted off the months in his head… five or six months away.   Suddenly his whole fucked up life came swarming back in, Terry, the Feds, his dead brother, the stolen money.  _Fuck_. 

Ian saw the look on his face and misunderstood it to mean that Mickey had no intentions of sticking around here until spring.  They both looked at each other for a few seconds, not saying a word.   Ian started back up the mountain. 

“We’re nearly there.” 


	28. Come to Jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photo collage at the beginning of this story has a picture of a mountain on the top right. That is Long's Peak, up in Rocky Mtn Nat'l Park, in the exact location where I imagine this story takes place. The lake is named Bear Lake, and it's is one of my favorite places in the entire world. I go there before winter is over, snow shoe in to the lake, then walk out on the frozen water and lay down as the sun rises. 
> 
> You can hear the ice cracking around you as the sun warms it (It's usually super thick!) and it is really scary to think that you're laying out in the middle of the lake and any minute it can open up and drown you. Just a little perspective on the beauty of Gallway Falls ;)

The last quarter mile had finally flattened out, thank god, and was just thick pine trees.  Mickey was still catching his breath and drenched in sweat from the incline when the trees suddenly gave way.  It opened up to a lake that stretched so far it made the shore on the other side seem miles away. It took what little breath he had away.

“Wow.” He whispered in amazement.

“This is my favorite place in the world… right here.” Ian said as he came to stand next to Mickey, both of them breathing deeply and taking in the view. 

Mickey could see cabins off to the right, still at least half a mile or more away. As they got closer, he saw canoes stacked against some wooden structure near the lake.  Ian reached for his hand, and almost changed his mind as their fingers touched, remembering how it had triggered Mickey to a near panic attack the night before. Mickey quickly grabbed at his fingers before he could pull them back, taking his hand firmly inside of his own.  Ian smiled that shy little smile that Mickey was so fond of as they continued walking hand in hand toward the cabins.

Ian pointed out a dirt road that came up around the opposite side of the cabins, “That’s the road that leads back to town.  If you ever get stuck up here, just follow it back down.”

“Are you planning on abandoning me here?”  Mickey asked, tugging at Ian’s hand.

“Haha!  No, I’m not.  Sorry. Old habit – I tell all the tourists the same thing.”

“Ok.  Fair enough.  What if I wanted to take the trail back down – how would I find the aspens again?” Mickey asked.

Ian smiled, “You’d definitely need me for that, Mick. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t lose you up here.”

As they neared the cabins there was much more to everything than a few boats and small cabins.  Granted, some of them were small, but others looked like they could sleep eight or more people.  There were also camp sites flushed clear of any wild growth, big enough for tents and a fire pit.  In the front of everything, nearer to the water there was a much larger area with wooden benches all around a giant fire pit in the center.

“We do our Kumbaya sessions there.” Ian said as Mickey looked at the makeshift arena.

“What the fuck is a koombee… whatever the fuck you said… session.”  Mickey asked.

“You know, fireside sing-alongs, scary stories, roasted marshmallows, that sort of thing.”

Mickey looked at him excitedly.  In his entire life he’d never had a koombeewhateverthefuckitwas session like that before.  He’d been to many bonfires.  Hell, the South Side was all about lighting up an old couch or a pile of tree limbs and weeds on a summer night, but that wasn’t the same as what Ian was talking about.

“What’s that look for?  Haven’t you ever had a Kumbaya before, Mick?”

“No, can’t say I have,” he laughed.

“Huh.”

They passed a half dozen cabins before arriving at one that was the largest among them, right in the center of all the others. In fact, it could hardly be called a cabin at all.  It loomed two stories high with floor to ceiling windows and a large deck.  Much like the Gallagher house back in town, this cabin had money written all over it.

Ian dug his hand around behind a large stone leaning against the porch and brought out a small, dented Altoid tin.  He opened it up to reveal a key and unlocked the cabin door. 

On the inside, was what anyone would expect from a mountain cabin, with a large open living area tying the kitchen, dining area, and living room all together.  There were other rooms off to the side, and even more up a set of wooden steps which were slightly fancier than the stairs in Mickey’s own apartment building.  The large leather sofas had knitted blankets thrown over the backs, and there were thick wool rugs thrown onto the wooden floor.  An oversized fireplace was set in the center of the room with openings facing both the front and the back, which lead to another sitting area near the back of the house.  The walls were adorned with a mounted animal heads, the largest of which was a bull moose right over the fireplace, and several trophy sized green, gray, and rainbow colored fish as well. 

Ian let his pack fall from his shoulders with a huff of relief as the weight came off.  Mickey was struggling to undo the pack from around his waist when Ian’s hands took over, easily untying the straps and grabbing his pack to slide it easily from his back.  Mickey groaned involuntarily at his aching muscles.  How the fuck he planned on helping Ian with any of the work that needed to be done was beyond him.  He’d never hurt so bad in all his life, and yet Ian was bouncing around the room as if he’d never felt better.

Ian went to a closet and began pulling out linens, tossing a large fluffy towel to Mickey.  Yes, a bath.  A hot bath.  That was what Mickey wanted.  He sat on the edge of a chair and leaned over to untie his boot.

“Don’t take your boots off.  We need to walk a bit more.”  He saw the way Mickey’s face fell at that, “I promise you, it'll be worth it.  I swear.” 

He went to the kitchen and opened a cabinet, “We have some beer or whiskey, but the beer’s not cold.”  He held both up, showing them to Mickey to choose.  Mickey pointed at the whiskey.  What he wouldn’t do for a cold beer right now, but warm beer tasted like shit.

Ian grabbed both the beer and the whiskey.  He stopped by the kitchen counter where a giant plant with long green spikes was growing in the window, and broke off a piece, sticking it in his pocket.

“The fuck is that?” Mickey asked.

“Aloe. Good for first aid, and other things.”  He grabbed Mickey’s unmoving body by the arm and dragged him along to the front door.  “Come on.  I promise, you’ll enjoy this. Then we’ll take it easy the rest of the night.”

Mickey couldn’t possibly fathom what he would enjoy more than a hot bath and cool sheets right now, even at just – shit, it was barely 2 in the afternoon. 

“Ok, stop yanking my damn arm. I’m coming.”

Mickey made his way down the porch steps slowly, achingly, as Ian jogged ahead to the edge of the lake and set the beer into the water. 

“It’ll get cold for later.”  He explained as he ran back to meet Mickey. 

They walked back into the woods for almost half a mile.  Mickey could smell the springs before he saw them.

“What is that?”

“You’ll see.” 

They came around a rock wall onto a large open pool of water with steam rising up around it.  Ian tossed his towel onto a rock nearby and started undressing, giving Mickey an inviting smile and a nod of his head to do the same.  Mickey watched him disrobe all the way to his boxers, openly staring at every inch of Ian’s body.  He had his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth without even realizing he was doing it when Ian came up to him quickly, dipping his head to pull at Mickey’s lip with his own lips, biting it gently as Mickey surrendered and laughed a little into to the kiss.   

“You drive me fucking crazy when you do that, Mick.” He purred, biting at Mickey’s lips once more. 

He kissed Mickey again, their tongues dancing together slowly, his hands roaming down Mickey’s back and over his round ass, pulling him close. So close he could feel Mickey hard dick against him.  Ian deepened the kiss, pulling Mickey into his thighs hard before abruptly letting him go. 

“Get undressed.”

Ian went back to the water, taking his boxers off just before stepping in without looking back at Mickey.  The water’s edge wasn’t gradual like a lake.  There was an immediate depth to it, with a wall of rock lining the edge.  When Ian slipped in, the water came nearly to his chest. Mickey watched him as he swam out about twenty feet, dipping his head back and wetting his red hair, giving it the illusion of being almost brown when it was wet. 

Mickey undressed a bit more slowly, his eyes on Ian swimming in the water the entire time.  He tossed his discarded clothes into the same pile as Ian’s and sat at the edge of the pond sliding into it slowly.  He’d never seen a hot spring before and had no idea what to expect.

Heaven.  That’s what it felt like. 

He let his entire body slide in until he was immersed to his neck and standing on his toes. It was like a hot bath only a million times better, with the blue skies and fresh breeze surrounding them.  Ian floated around the pond smiling as he watched Mickey relax with his eyes closed in the heated water.  Mickey leaned his head back, wetting his hair and wiping wet hands down his tired face.  This was definitely worth the extra twenty minute hike.

“Can you swim?”  Ian asked, paddling his feet underwater about fifteen feet away from Mickey.  “Don’t look at me like that! It’s an honest question. There are parts of this that get a hundred feet deep, so I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Mickey slowly made his way away from the edge, “I can _not drown_.  Does that count?” 

Ian laughed.  “Yeah, that counts.”  He swam back toward Mickey.  “But just to be safe, why don’t we stay on this end of the water. Come here.”  He reached for Mickey and pulled him in close, Mickey’s legs still moving in circles to stay afloat.

“I got you.  You can relax.”  Ian said, wrapping one arm around Mickey’s waist.

“Yeah, but who’s got you?”

Ian laughed, “We’re not all mini sized, Mick.  I’m standing up.”

Mickey looked down into the water, “What the fuck…” 

Sure enough, Ian was standing still, holding Mickey firmly against him with his second arm now wrapped below Mickey’s ass, pulling him in tight.  Mickey looked back into his green eyes now just an inch from his own.

“Not all of us are fucking giants, Firecrotch.”  He peeked down into the water between their legs, then nodded satisfied, “Yep.”

He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Ian’s neck as they kissed.  Seconds later, he pulled his legs up and wrapped them snuggly around Ian’s waist.

Ian let his hands roamed along Mickey’s skin as he moved them closer to the edge of the pond, hitching Mickey in as tight as he could against his own body.  Mickey tucked his nose into Ian’s neck, biting and sucking, while Ian left a trail of kisses from cheek to neck.  He took Mickey to the shallow end of the water, just knee high, then set him to stand up against a large, round heated boulder just a bit taller than Mickey.

“Turn around.”  He said.

Mickey turned, peeking over his shoulder to see what Ian was up to. Ian went to his clothes and reached in the pocket of his jeans for the aloe he had taken from the cabin.

“Whoa, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with that?”

Ian held the spiked stem in front of his face and laughed.

“Just… not that.  Turn around and relax.” All the clumsy, silly, foolishness of the person Mickey had met days ago was gone now. This Ian was sure and confident and calling the shots, and it was turning Mickey the fuck on.

He moved Mickey’s arms and crossed them in front of him on the rocks, then pressed his head gently, laying it on his arms as if he were going to take a nap, “Stay just like that.  Don’t move.”

Ian set the plant stem down on the rock where Mickey could see it, then moved his body up close behind him, his hard dick leaning heavy against Mickey’s ass, as his arms reached under to embrace Mickey around the chest.  His hands moved slow, caressing Mickey’s skin, his lips moved in rhythm caressing the back of Mickey’s neck and shoulders.  He pressed his hips into Mickey while his mouth left soft, deep bruises in Mickey’s skin. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mickey…”

Mickey’s pink full lips bowed in a smile, his closed eyes pinched with happy little crinkles at the corners, as he felt Ian’s caresses on his skin.

“So fucking beautiful…”

His hands moved down Mickey’s back, massaging every aching muscles, pushing in deep to relieve day’s worth of hard work and hiking.  Ian’s strong hands moved in long fluid motions from the bottom of Mickey’s back all the way to the shoulders, pushing deep into the tight knots and working them out.  He paused at each shoulder only long enough to rub deep satisfying circles into the skin with his thumbs, working up Mickey’s neck, then back down, slowly to Mickey’s waist again.   All the while, his lips stayed close, peppering Mickey with kisses as he moved.

Mickey let out a satisfied groan as the heat of the rock beneath him helped sooth his muscles, and Ian worked the knots away over and over. 

“That feels so goood.”

Ian leaned in, his hands still working, and bit Mickey’s neck, teeth sinking in almost to the point of pain before his lips closed onto the mark to suck a deep bruise in his skin.  He dipped his legs down below the water just a bit, allowing his dick to slip in between Mickey’s slightly spread legs as he continued to work the kinks from Mickey’s back.

“Is this ok?”

“Mmmhmmm…” Mickey sighed. “This is fucking perfect.”  He opened his legs a little more, allowing Ian to step in closer. 

Ian pulled his fingers in long, slow strokes down Mickey’s back, digging deep into his skin, but didn’t roam back up.  They continued lower, working along the sides of Mickey’s ass, then pulling up tight, opening him up.  Ian stepped closer and buried his dick there, still working Mickey’s muscles around his hips and thighs. Mickey moaned into his own arms.

“You like that, Mick?” 

His hands made another round, this time making sure to grab handfuls of Mickey’s ass, squeezing hard as he pulled his fingers back up, spreading Mickey open as they went.

“Ian,” Mickey lifted his head and pushed himself back into Ian’s body, laying his head into Ian, “Just fucking get on me, man.  You’re driving me crazy.”

If there was one thing hard work and mountain living had taught Ian, it was that he never needed to be told twice to get a job done. 

With Mickey’s words, his face hooked around to meet Mickey’s, their lips locking in a wet and needy kiss, as one of his legs pushed Mickey’s open even more.  Ian reached over, using his fingernail to slice the thin skin of the aloe plant, then squeezing a generous amount of gel from the plant stem.  He took his gelled fingers and reached down them along the crack of Mickey’s ass slowly, pressing them lower until he felt the tight ring of muscles.  Mickey leaned forward, bending over for Ian.

Massaging the gel on his fingers in small circles, Ian pressed lightly until he felt Mickey relax beneath him.  He pressed his middle finger in first, watching as Mickey sucked in his lip and taking a deep breath as he felt it breach his ass.  Ian moved it in slowly, then pulling out a little before pressing it in deeper, moving it around inside of Mickey to open him up. 

He laid forward onto Mickey’s back, sucking at his skin as he worked, stretching his free fingers forward to rub along Mickey’s perineum, and pulling a deep satisfied sigh from Mickey.  Ian worked him open gently, adding more gel so that each finger slipped in easily…one finger, then two, pressing kisses into his neck and shoulders.  Three fingers … Mickey was practically keening beneath him.

“Now.  Fucking now.  I need you in me...” Mickey demanded. He was going to come all over that fucking boulder if Ian made him wait another minute.

In one swift move Ian’s fingers were gone. He squeezed the last of the aloe onto his hand, pulling at his own dick once, twice, then pressing the head at the ring of muscles. Ian reached his free hand forward, combing his fingers into Mickey’s own which were gripped on the rocks in front of him, then nuzzling his nose into Mickey’s neck – he pressed forward in one smooth, slow thrust, lifting Mickey’s toes from the bottom of the pool.  Ian reached around his waist to ground him as he pushed further in, feeling the immediate tightness and heat surrounding him.  Mickey lifted a leg the slightest bit, allowing Ian to keep him anchored in close, feeling Ian fill him up. 

“Holy fucking…”

Mickey grunted, putting his forehead against the hot rock.  He begged for a cool breeze now, the heat all around him and now deep inside of him.  Ian bottomed out. Mickey reached his hand back around Ian, holding him still for just a moment, giving them both a minute to adjust.  He braced his other arm in front of himself on the rock edging, then with a hard pat on Ian’s ass, he said “Fuckin’ move.”

And Ian did.  He pulled his himself out to the tip the pushed hard into Mickey, forcing Mickey to use both hands to brace himself near the rock.  Ian moved again, pulling nearly all the way out, then thrusting hard again, pulling Mickey’s legs up off the water floor.  He moved relentlessly, fast at times, then slowing down to thrust hard.  His kept his hands firm on Mickey’s hips, pulling him in with each thrust, leaving definite bruises in his silky white skin.  Mickey’s arms were stretched out, gripping the rocks in front of him with white knuckled fingers as Ian held on to him, fucking him with everything he had.

Ian leaned his body forward, pushing Mickey downward.  The new angle sent shooting sparks through Mickey with each thrust.  He tried his best to respond to each push, but it was hopeless as he was lifted off his toes in the water with every move.  Ian mercifully pulled Mickey into himself, fingers digging into Mickey’s skin with each thrust.  It could have been only moments, but it felt like forever, as Ian pushed Mickey closer to the edge, sweat running from their hair as they stole sloppy kisses from each other’s lips.  Ian reached a hand forward, taking hold of Mickey’s hard dick, stroking it with each thrust.  Mickey fell forward again, arms braced against the rock in front of him, head leaned down as he grunted and groaned with ever thrust, letting Ian know he was hitting home with every move.

“Fuuu… I’m gonna come, Ian…”

Ian leaned forward, his fiery red hair gleaming in the sunlight as he whispered exhaustively into Mickey’s ear, “Come on, baby.  Come for me…”

Everything in that exact moment was like a bolt of lightning to Mickey’s brain, wiping the entire world around him away in a white light. 

 _“Come for me…”_   He’d heard those words before, that voice, this moment.  His back arched into Ian as Ian thrust into him again, over and over, until Mickey’s cum was spilling over his fingers and into the hot water below.  Mickey wanted to scream out and vocalize the euphoria that rushed through him, but all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut, letting out an blissful groan as his body succumbed to the delicious fucking his ass had taken. 

Three, four, five more thrusts, then Ian’s grip tightened around him like a vice as his hot cum filled Mickey. Ian’s hips pulsed sporadically several times before he slowed, then finally stopped moving altogether.  He leaned exhausted on top of Mickey against the rock, his nose buried deep in the side of Mickey’s hair. 

Deep heavy breaths filled Mickey’s ear as Ian came down from his high and slowly released his grip around Mickey. Mickey quickly reached to his waist, holding Ian’s arms in place, not ready for him to let go quite yet.  He felt Ian’s soft dick slip out of him. 

He rolled himself in Ian’s arms so they were facing each other, both of them standing nose to nose with their eyes closed.  Ian’s lips opened slightly against Mickey’s in an exhausted, satisfied almost kiss.  Mickey’s legs wrapped once again around Ian’s waist once again as they slipped down into the warm water.

“Fuck… I think I just had a Come to Jesus moment.” Mickey said into Ian’s open lips, making Ian fall back laughing, taking them both under the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say, "It took them damn long enough!!!" 
> 
> Thank you for reading... we're not quite halfway through this story, but I'll be traveling for a few weeks, so I won't be updating (Who knows... maybe I'll try to sneak a chapter in here or there, but no promises). 
> 
> Thank you all for staying with the story, and for the wonderful comments. I'm sorry if I've missed answering any - I'm usually pretty good about that, but LIFE is busy right now, so I may have missed some. I'll try to sneak another chapter or two in tomorrow (but I REALLY REALLY need to pack!)


	29. Even Goldilocks Likes Bears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! My plane isn't here yet!

Consciousness came slowly, starting with a twitch of his nose, then a wiggle of his eyebrows, followed by a long, slow, satisfying stretch of his body, toes curling and fists tightened.  The bed was feather soft with thick weighted blankets making it nearly impossible for Mickey to open his eyes, but the delicious smell of something cooking and the soft sounds of Johnny Hartman filling the air pulled him from his slumber. 

Mickey took a deep breath and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  The room was nearly dark, with just the moonlight coming in a window.  He tried to remember the last time he’d slept so soundly and considered just staying under the heavy covers for another hour.  It was the humming of the man who was quickly becoming his favorite habit that drew him out of the room.

The main room of the house had just a few lamps burning giving the room a warm glow.  Ian had built a large fire which heated the grand living area.  Mickey was awe struck, not only by the room, but the view out the window was the most incredible he could remember.  The moon lit the lake, casting its light onto the tree lined mountains all around them. The whole picture – the room, the view, the distant mountains – all of it was something he could easily get used to.

He made his way around the room into the dining area.  The music was coming from a record player console near a dining table which had been set with tall stemmed glasses, dishes, and a pitcher of cold water.  Mickey made his way to the table, pouring some water and taking a long, cool drink as he watched Ian at the stove flipping something with a spatula and swaying to the tune.

He set his glass down, then slipped in behind Ian, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Oh!  Mickey!  God, you scared me!  I thought you were still sleeping.”

“You should be more careful. I coulda been a bear.” He kissed Ian’s back and buried his nose between his shoulder blades, taking in a deep breath of him.

“I would have hit you on the head with this cast iron skillet and made a rug out of you.”  Ian laughed.

“What’re you making? Smells good.”

“Salmon.”  Ian smiled, as he reached for some pepper at the side of the stove.

“Salmon?  Where the fuck did you get salmon from?”

“From the spillway. I went fishing when you went to take a nap.” 

Mickey stepped to the side watching Ian work expertly around the stove.  “You _caught_ dinner?  Like some sort of… fuckin’ mountain man?”  He asked.

Ian let out a hearty laugh, “I sort of am a mountain man, Mickey.” 

He looked at Mickey for the first time since he’d come out of the room.  His dark hair which was normally combed into place was now sticking up in several directions.  His cheeks still had the red lined creases from the sheets.  Ian set the spatula aside and pulled Mickey into his arms. 

“Jesus, Mick.  D’you always look this good when you wake up?”  Ian leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Mickey’s mouth before letting him go.  He glanced back at him, drinking him in from head to toe several times as he went about finishing dinner, making Mickey flush a bit before he finally walked away.

“There’s cold beer – oh shit, I forgot to bring it in.”  He set the pan and spatula to the side of the burner, but Mickey was up first.

“You go back and … and make sure you don’t burn my fuckin’ dinner.  I’ll take care of the beer.”

Mickey was back a moment later with a handful of cold beers, putting them on the table. 

“I hope you like fish, because unless we go hunting, this is what you’re eating for the next three days.”

“I like fish.” He answered, hitting the cap of two of the bottles against the table to open them.

“I’m just kidding.   Carl drove up earlier and brought some food for us.  It’s in the icebox, but we’re still probably gonna eat a shitload of fish.”

Dinner was simple but incredible.  Fiona had sent a whole basket of fresh biscuits that would last them a few days, along with a few other goodies.  Mickey devoured every bite of Salmon, saying he’d never had anything so fucking good in all his life, but then again it could have been because he’d never been so hungry after climbing a mountain before.

After dinner, they walked around the campgrounds, most of the time now walking shoulder to shoulder, but now and then Mickey wandered away toward the lake.  He couldn’t get over the beauty of this place.  He wanted to point it out to Ian, but the first time he had, Ian had chuckled – apparently used to hearing it from the tourists who came here.  The beauty wasn’t lost on Ian – it was just that he had grown up on the mountain, so it wasn’t new like it was for Mickey.

Ian told him about the visitors to Gallway Falls.  He told him the story of the people who had smoked up an entire cabin, nearly killing them in their sleep because they forgot to open the flue on the fireplace.  Another person left their food near their campfire without properly storing it which attracted two large grizzlies into the camp that night, nearly killing everyone

“What the fuck did you do?” Mickey asked, looking around for signs of rabid grizzlies on the loose.

“Luckily, Lip and I were both up in the main cabin that night.  We heard a bunch of people screaming, then a few gunshots, so we grabbed our guns and ran out here shooting.   Bullets were flying everywhere!  It took us at least five minutes before we realized the bears weren’t a problem anymore, so then we had to get everyone to stop shooting at each other.”

“Holy shit.  What happened to the bears?  Did they kill ‘em?”

“No.  No sign of injured bears anywhere.  They just left some giant rips into a few of the tents, and along claw marks where they gauged out some of the wood benches.  Come here, I’ll show you.” 

They walked over to one of the pits and Ian pointed out the long, deep claw marks etched into the wood.  Mickey imagined the size of something that could make a mark like that and shivered.

“Lip and I had to confiscate everyone’s guns for a while.  We didn’t want them to be getting trigger happy after that.  I had to explain to them that a regular rifle wasn’t really even gonna scratch a great big grizzly.  You need a fucking elephant gun for that.  Or, well, a bear gun, I guess.” 

Ian noticed the way Mickey was glancing around the dark camp, and had moved an inch or two closer as they were talking.  He stepped up quick, grabbing Mickey at the waist and making him jump.

“What’s the matter, Mick?  Scared?”

“Fuck you, I ain’t scared of no bear.”

“That’s good, ‘cause we’re probably gonna see a few before the nights over.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”  Mickey grabbed Ian’s arm and started yanking him quickly back to the cabin.  “It’s time to go inside now.” 

Ian laughed as Mickey dragged him all the way back, “Aw, come on, even Goldilocks wasn’t afraid of a bear, Mickey.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t fuckin’ Goldilocks. Let’s fucking go.” He grunted as he pulled Ian along.

Safe inside the cabin, Mickey closed the door tight and began bolting the lock.  “Bears usually just bust through a wall if they want in.”  Mickey threw his middle finger up at Ian, earning a hearty laugh.

Ian grabbed a few cold beers and tossed some of the pillows from the sofa onto the floor by the fire.  Mickey took a seat with his back against a chair, and was more than surprised when Ian casually laid his head down on his lap.  

Ian closed his eyes, finally showing signs of exhaustion from the day. They sat quietly for a bit, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room, as Mickey bravely made the decision to set his fingers in Ian’s red hair, running them slowly through the thick tresses.  Ian relaxed beneath him.

“How in the world did you end up with all this fiery red hair, but your siblings got brown?”

Ian laughed a little.  “My youngest sister’s hair is the same as mine.  Must be from my dad’s side of the family, I guess.  We have an uncle that we take after, apparently.  Either that, or my mom was off screwing around when she had us!”  Ian’s eyes shot open, “Oh shit, I probably shouldn’t joke about stuff like that.  Sorry.  My mom was… let’s just say Fiona was a better mom.”

Ian closed his eyes again when Mickey smiled at him, reaching his free hand over to hold Ian’s. 

“I didn’t really know my mom.”  He said quietly.  Ian’s fingers squeezed gently on his own.

“Terry… my dad, I guess… He, uh… He’s not such a good guy, you know.  Anyway, my grandfather owned a small handyman’s business on the South Side of Chicago, built a pretty decent life for his family there.  It was just him and my grandmother, and my mom.  She was the only kid.”

Mickey scooted his body so he was a bit more reclined, and stretched his legs in front of him. Ian turned sideways in his lap, eyes still closed but now facing Mickey.

“So, Chicago South Side ain’t no joke, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of Capone and his men,” Ian nodded his head, “Yeah, well, my dad was one of his men.”

Ian’s eyes shot open, his head turning to look at Mickey who was looking back down at him. Mickey’s internal tough guy wanted to ask ‘ _You got a problem with dat?’_  - an old habit he’d grown used to when people found out his old man was a gangster, but he really had no reason to defend his father’s lifestyle.  He waited to see what Ian’s reaction would be.

Ian closed his eyes and adjusted his head, grabbing hold of Mickey’s hand that had come to a rest in his hair, and moving it around in a not so subtle hint for Mickey to continue massaging his scalp.  Mickey conceded, his fingers running gently through Ian’s hair again as he spoke.

“Anyhow, my mom, she was probably just about 14, maybe 15 years old when she gets mixed up with him.  Terry was close to 40 by then. Fucking perverted son of a bitch.  Took her away from my Pops, she had me, then popped out another kid by the time she was even 17 years old.”

Mickey stopped massaging Ian’s head and ran his hand through his own hair, pulling it into fisted fingers at the back as he felt his blood get heated just thinking of Terry. Ian pulled his other hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.  Mickey tilted his head down, watching Ian soothe him as he kissed each finger and waited.

“She died when I was like three years old.  Terry once told me she died in a car accident, but when I was older I heard one of his men say something like, “he’ll end up beating this one to death like he did his wife.”” 

Ian’s eyes met Mickey’s.  They didn’t speak.  Ian held his hand and Mickey placed his free hand back into his hair, making Mickey smile a little – grateful for Ian’s easy-going attitude and lack of questions. Taking the hint, he ran his fingers through his hair once again.  There was a long moment of silence between them, but they kept their eyes on each other.

“Terry is a son of a bitch.  I fucking hate him.  Mandy and I went to go live with my Pops when I was about 15, and I’m grateful for it every fucking day.”

“Is he still alive? Terry?”  Ian asked.

Mickey didn’t speak for a long time.   His eyes wandered around the room avoiding Ian’s, or maybe just not wanting to see Ian’s eyes because every answer he would give him would still in some way be the omission of part of the truth.  At the very least, it would lead to more questions that Ian still hadn’t asked Mickey – like that very simple one he hadn’t asked yet: what Mickey’s job was.

Mickey nodded his head as he realized at some point he was going to have to surrender the truth and trust to this man if he wanted to be closer to him.  And he wanted that.  He wanted everything. 

“Yeah.  He’s still alive.”  He said quietly.

Ian rocked himself forward to a sitting position, then rolled over to stand up.   He went about the room, putting everything in its place, then walked over to the fireplace to stoke the wood.  He set the screen in front of it, making sure the hearth was free of debris.  Then he reached his hand down to Mickey to help him to his feet. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

They undressed and climbed under the covers, meeting in the middle of the bed face to face.  The clouds had moved in and there was little moonlight coming through the window, but even in the dark of the room they drank every detail of the other in.  Ian’s arm around Mickey’s waist, Mickey’s hand holding Ian’s face, making small circles on his cheek as Ian’s eyes fell closed slow and heavy. 

“Mick?” he said sleepily.

“Yeah.”  Mickey leaned in and kissed his lips softly, waiting for Ian to continue.

Ian didn’t say anything for a long time, making Mickey think he had fallen asleep. He gently moved himself around in Ian’s grasp, making himself the little spoon as he curled his body into Ian’s.  He pulled Ian’s arm over him and into his chest threading their fingers together. 

“Don’t leave me.”  Ian whispered, and pulled Mickey closer.


	30. Fiona's Outfit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must have been feeling fluffy when I wrote these few chapters - which is really so unlike me.

“Has anyone heard from Sully today?”  Caffrey asked

“Said something about heading to the police station, to check on a stolen car he’s been tracking.” 

“Stolen car?  What stolen car? He’s supposed to be working on that audit.”

Gerald shook his head, “No idea.  Thought it had something to do with Mickey.  He was waiting outside your office when you mentioned Mickey calling.  Next thing I know, he says, ‘I gotta go.  Need to check on that stolen car the police reported.’”

“The fuck is he up to?”  Caffrey headed into his office to call the Chicago PD to find out what he could about Sullivan and a stolen car.

***

“Hey, did you see this?”  Lip held the newspaper up for Fiona to read.

“What’s that about?” she asked, not bothering to read past the headline.

“Bunch of shit going on in Chicago.  Gang wars or something.  Says that now that the one guy, Capone, is gone everything’s falling apart.  People getting shot and killed on the streets.”

Fiona shook her head, “Glad we don’t have to deal with that shit here.”

“I don’t know.  Glenwood’s got their share of mobsters going on over there.  Been reading about that for a few years now - these guys spend a lot of time there. Heard some talk about it last time I was in Denver.  It’s the new mob vacation getaway.”

“Well, Glenwood isn’t Gallway, I wouldn’t worry about it.”  She said, as she wiped the crumbs from the counter.

“Yeah, I guess not.  That wasn’t really what I was getting at though.”  He tapped the paper once again, holding it up for Fiona to see.  “Says here three guys associated with Terry Milkovich’s crew were arrested for opening fire in a diner.”

“Yeah, so?” 

Lip looked at her, waiting for Fiona to make the connection. 

“What? What am I missing?  I’m not getting it.”

“Milkovich.  From Chicago.  Isn’t that Mickey’s last name?”

“Oh my god.  Do you think he was serious when he said his dad was a gangster?” 

Her eyes grew large with worry as she realized Ian might be stuck up on a mountain with a dangerous gangster, or at least the son of one.

“Well, it’s a pretty good guess he was telling the truth.”  They both sat there, thinking, “Should I go up there?  Make sure everything’s ok?”

“No.  No, don’t do that.  Ian will fucking kill you… and me.  Just.  He can handle it.  I’m sure everything’s fine.  Mickey’s been… he’s been fine, helping out with things too.  We’ll talk to Ian when he gets back.”

“Fiona-” 

They couldn’t risk it.  Everything they had in town could be in danger if anyone found out what they were doing up in the mines, but Fiona shook her head decidedly. 

“No.  No, Lip.  I’m making the call on this.  We’ll talk to Ian when he gets back, and if necessary, we’ll talk to Mickey too.  Or just get him out of town.” 

Gallway was her goddamn town, and she planned on keeping it safe.  Aside from the bloodshed, drugs, money laundering, brothels, and racketeering happening in Chicago, Fiona’s ‘Outfit’ was not far off from that of the windy city.  Her “Family” extended out like branches on a tree of trust, with crews working their businesses all year round.  It included not only her siblings, but hundreds of people that she felt responsible for every day.  She knew the ins and outs of her business in this town, and stayed on top of any changes that affected more than just one or two households.  This was her mafia – a whole lot quieter, definitely more peaceful and loving, with a lot less bloodshed – but basically the same. 

Lip shook his head and tossed the paper on the table as he walked out of the room.

“I hope you’re right about this.”

***

They were up with the sunlight, drinking coffee and eating scrambled eggs, before heading out to get some work done.  Ian spent most of the morning chattering, telling Mickey how Fiona had invested most of their family’s money into building the campsite more than fifteen years ago, in hopes of creating a lasting business with the influx of tourists. It had almost failed in the first few years, until Estes Park began to boom, along with the Glenwood Springs overpass which brought more visitors in from the west. 

Mickey, being much less of a morning person than Ian apparently was, sipped his coffee and listened to each story quietly as they ate.  The towns people had used the old mining roads already in place to build up their empire.  Ian walked over to the large window at the front of the cabin which displayed a full vista of the mountain in front of them.

“Up there, you can see two of the mining caves.” 

He handed Mickey a pair of binoculars for a better view.  “Over there, and just over the ridge on the right.  We use a mirror system for communication.  Lip came up with that.  Sort of like sending a telegram, only we use short codes for predetermined message.  Lets us know if there’s any kind of trouble up there.”

“Lip’s a pretty smart guy, huh?”

“He’s a fucking idiot most of the time, but I guess he’s a bit of genius too.  He actually has a degree in all that stuff.”  Ian set the binoculars aside and grabbed some tools he’d laid at the front door.  “Let’s get this shit done.  We’ll get out on the lake later if you want.”

The morning hours flew by as they cleaned the fireplaces in each cabin, emptied out cupboards, and shuttered up the windows.  Mickey didn’t realize how much work went into maintaining an empty house. It took them seven hours to clear all eighteen cabins, taking a quick break for lunch.  They sat on the porch of the last cabin they cleaned, drinking cold beers and staring out at the lake, too tired to move.  They had boxed up any commodities that could be taken back to town, and brought all the linens and dry goods that could be stored for the winter back to their own cabin.

“You do this on your own every year?”

“Sometimes Debbie helps me.  But she’s at school this year.”  Ian sipped his beer and nodded, “This is sort of my thing, you know?  Everyone else has their jobs, but the lake and the cabins… these are mine.  I think about moving up here all the time.”

“Why don’t you?” Mickey asked. 

He pictured a life up here in the quiet space of the mountain and wondered if he could live like that.  No traffic, no city, no gunfire… well, maybe a little gunfire, if Ian was being serious about those fucking bears.  Maybe a life like that wouldn’t be so bad.  It was beautiful, that’s for sure. 

“I might.” Ian finally answered.  “I guess I just don’t want to come here alone, you know?”  He looked at Mickey, their eyes held for a moment before he turned back to the lake.  “We’ll see.” 

He stood up quickly and began moving some of the boxes into the cabin.  Mickey groaned against his still sore muscles to get up and help.

“No, you sit.  This’ll just take a minute.  Then we’ll go catch dinner.”

Catch dinner? What the fuck did that mean, Mickey wondered.

“Catch what dinner?   We gonna run down a deer or something?”

“No!”  Ian looked at him curiously, “Fish.  You’ve been fishing before, haven’t you?”

Mickey shook his head.

“Oh my god, Mickey!  What kind of fucked up childhood did you have?  Everyone’s been fishing before!”

***

“Are you really going to make me wear this fucking thing?” 

Ian slipped the orange u-shaped contraption over Mickey’s head and began fastening the straps, quickly reminding Mickey of the mothering treatment he’d gotten the day before and making him smile. 

“I’m not gonna fall out of the boat, Ian.”

“Yeah, well you just told me yesterday that, how did you put it, you can ‘not die.’  I kinda don’t wanna take any chances.”  He finished buckling Mickey in, then slipped another life vest over his own head, “See.  I’ll wear one too.” 

He leaned in to kiss Mickey’s grumpy pout, then grabbed the fishing poles and tackle and headed for the boat. The boat rocked to and fro as Mickey stepped in, then nearly tumbled right over the side into the water before Ian reached out and steadied him.

“See!  That’s why you need the life vest.”  Ian said, making his point.

“I can’t drown in 4 fucking feet of water, Ian.”  Mickey grumbled as he found a seat at the far end of the boat.

“Are you even 4 feet tall?  I’m not sure you are.” 

Mickey flipped him a middle finger, raising his brows in a challenging scowl, “Fuck off.”

There were two sets of oars in the boat but Ian spent most of the time paddling on his own, as Mickey’s mind and eyes wandered in amazement the further out they went.  He’d grown up on a lake that looked like an ocean, but never one that had mountains surrounding it on every side.  The water was clear as glass and he could occasionally see a fish rush by the boat or jump, breaking the surface, and making him yell out excitedly like a child.  Ian had a grin so wide on his face the entire time his jaw was sure to be sore later. 

“This should be good here,”

Ian set the paddles in the water at an angle to slow their forward motion, bringing the boat to a halt.  Mickey stood in his seat and turned around quickly, rocking the boat again and grabbing the sides in a sudden panic to keep it from toppling.

“Whoa!  Sit! Sit!  So, rule number one.  Slower movements and less standing, unless you want us both to go into the water.”

Ian handed Mickey a reel then set a can of nightcrawlers he had collected earlier that morning in between them.   Mickey watched as he hunted in the wet dirt for a fresh worm, and grimaced when Ian pulled a long fat reddish-brown worm out.  It curled around Ian’s finger with its tail, or maybe it was the head, flipping from side to side.

“Go ahead and grab one.”  Ian noticed the look of disgust on Mickey’s face.  “What?   Haven’t you ever touched a worm before?”

“Yes, of course I’ve touched a worm.”

“Then what’s with the face?”  Ian held his fat worm out, offering it to Mickey, who quickly moved his body back an inch or two to keep it from touching him.  “Ah Mick!   You’re not afraid of a worm, are you.”

“Fuck off, no I’m not afraid of a fuckin’ worm.  I just… what the hell are you gonna do with that anyway?”

Ian unwound his fishing line, pulling the hook free, then began stabbing it into the worm, taking his time to thread the line along the side of the wiggling creature. 

“FUCK!”  Mickey gagged and turned his head as if he were going to throw up.  Ian laughed, nearly doubling over, making the boat shake and rock again.  “Isn’t there some other … I don’t know… can’t you fish with something else?”

“Mmm, not really, no.  I mean, there are other kinds of bait, but we don’t have any.  We have a hook and a worm.  And if you want dinner, you’re gonna have to eventually touch them both.” 

Ian wasn’t about to give in and let Mickey off the hook, no pun intended.  He’d taken hundreds of people out on their first fishing trip and experienced the same aversion to threading a worm with many of them.  This was a lesson Mickey was going to have to complete if he wanted to eat tonight.

“Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

Ian cast his own line out into the water, then turned the reel a time or two to set the line.  He set his pole into the boat, anchoring it below the seat, then held the can of worms out to Mickey so that he could pick his bait.

“Jesus Christ, there’s no getting out of this, is there?”

“No, not if you want dinner.  I’m not sharing mine.”  Ian smiled and waited patiently.  “Got all day.  That’s the great thing about fishing, takes time and teaches you patience.”

If there was one thing Ian had learned about Mickey Milkovich, it was that getting to know him would take time, and a lot of patience – but he was an expert fisherman, and up to the challenge.

Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes. He flipped Ian off, then used that same finger to dig into the can searching for a worm.  He smiled triumphantly when he pulled one out, laying it on his flat open palm to show Ian.  It took everything for Ian to kill the urge to reach over and hug him for being so damn cute.

“Ok, so now you take the hook,” He reached for Mickey’s pole and loosened the line, handing Mickey the hook, “and you’re gonna hold the worm by one end-”  He lifted another worm from the can to demonstrate, “Like this.  Then just take the hook and pierce the skin, and slowly thread the worm onto the line so it’s almost straight along here.” He ran his finger up the length of line.

Mickey could do it.  He was confident, goddamn it!  How damn hard could it be to string a worm? He pulled the pole onto his lap, and brought the hook in front of him, following Ian’s instructions.  The worm kept curling around his finger as he held it, but wouldn’t sit still long enough for him to get it in the perfect positioning.  Fuck it, he thought, here goes!  He pressed the barb of the hook against the worm, not hard enough to pierce the skin but definitely hard enough to shock the worm.  It curled into a tight coil in his hand, pulling on Mickey’s skin enough to give it the slightest pinch.

Mickey screamed and shuffled back in his seat, throwing the worm and the fishing pole out into the water.

“That fucking thing bit me!!” He wiped his hands furiously on his jeans and shivered as he watched his pole sink into the water.  “It bit me!” 

He kept checking his hand for bite marks or blood, then looked up when he noticed Ian wasn’t speaking and appeared to be having a spasm in front of him.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” 

Ian had fallen backwards into the seat of the boat, laughing so hard that no sound seemed to be escaping from his mouth aside from little puffs of air followed by deep and desperate inhales as he continued to laugh. Tears were running down his face as he tried to catch his breath, attempting to talk, only to start laughing all over again every time he pictured the worm and pole flying into the water.

“Ok, ok, tough guy!  Laugh it up!  That fucking thing bit me and probably gave me some kind of disease, and you’re over here laughing like it’s some fucking comedy.”  Mickey said angrily, truly upset over the whole situation, which only spurred Ian on to laugh some more. 

“Yeah, well, fuck you.”  Mickey said, now trying to hold back a grin as the Ian’s laughter was starting to become contagious.

The boat shook with Ian’s movement and laughter, and it was another few seconds before Mickey realized Ian’s pole was moving along the floor of the boat.  He hit Ian’s knee and pointed out the way rod was bowed in an arch. 

“Is your fishing pole supposed to be doing that?”

Ian looked over, taking in a deep sigh of air and wiping the tears from his face.

“Oh shit!  I caught something!” He sat up quickly, and grabbed the pole before it got pulled into the water.  He handed it over to Mickey to reel in.

“No, I’m not fucking doing this! No!” 

Ian carefully stepped over to sit behind Mickey so that he could help guide the fish in.  Whether that was just an excuse he used to sit closer to and touch the him didn’t really matter.  He placed the pole in Mickey’s reluctant hands then wrapped his own arms around Mickey’s and began showing him how to bring the fish in. 

“Ok, you need to let it go a little, let him swim, then,” He jerked their arms back in a quick, sharp motion, feeling the line go taut, “that’s good, just like that.  That’ll set the hook so that you don’t lose him.” 

He began helping Mickey reel it in slow and steady at times, allowing the fish to swim freely, then a little faster at other times.  As the line came closer to the boat, Mickey began to see the fish flapping and splashing at the surface. He nearly hopped up out of his seat again with excitement, but Ian held him snug and kept him in his seat.  Mickey was so fucking adorable when he was like this.  Ian laughed, and leaned in close behind him and nuzzled at Mickey’s neck. 

“Holy shit!  You caught a fish!  You caught a fish!”  Mickey cried out.

Mickey continued to bring the line in as Ian rested his chin on his shoulder, watching him fight a very reluctant fish.

“YOU caught a fish, Mick.  If you land it, it’s yours.” 

When the fish was within reaching distance, Ian grabbed the long handle of the net and swooped it into the water to secure the catch.

“Oh my god, Mick!  Look at that!  That’s gotta be a good 3 or four pounds!  That’s a trophy catch if I ever saw one!”  Mickey was smiled from ear to ear as Ian held the flopping fish in the net toward him. 

“Ok, you have to grab hold of him.  You’re gonna have to pull that hook out of his mouth.”

“What?”  Mickey moved back in his seat again. “I’m not touching that fucking thing!”

Ian laughed hard again and nearly dropped the netting back into the water. 

“Your fish.  You’re responsible for it.” 

Ian pushed the net toward Mickey who reluctantly reached in, trying to get a grip on the slimy scales as the fish flopped around frantically, a grimace of disgust on his face. 

“Just wait until you have to clean it.” Ian added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s The fishing scene was a true story of me trying to teach my friend how to work a hook. He'll deny it to this day, but I know the truth!


	31. Truth or Drink

They stayed on the boat a few hours, entertained by stories of Mickey’s mischievous childhood growing up on the South Side of Chicago, and making out like teenagers when the fish weren’t biting.  They shared the only remaining pole, with Mickey’s sunk to the bottom of the lake, but they were still more interested in each other than the actual goal of catching more fish.  Even with all the distractions of flirting and kissing and stories, somehow by the end of their fishing trip Mickey had become quite proficient in stringing a worm on the line, and gotten the hang of casting out or reeling in a fish when they were lucky enough to catch one. 

The first fish he’d caught turned out to be the trophy of the day – it was a beautiful rainbow trout with silver scales that changed colors in the sun.  Ian said it probably weighed close to four pounds, which was nearly as large as some of the fish that were mounted on the walls in the house. 

Back on shore there was another long row of laughter on Ian’s part as he tried to teach Mickey to gut and clean the fish they had caught.  He’d only made it through half of the first fish when Mickey couldn’t take it anymore. He spent the next five minutes bent over, dry heaving every time he looked back.  Ian spent the entire time laughing as he cleaned the fish, and accidentally ended up cutting his finger with the sharp fishing knife he was handling.  This inevitably sent Mickey into new bouts of dry heaves when he saw the blood running from Ian’s hand, which then sent Ian into more laughing fits.  Mickey had to admit, fishing was the grossest thing he’d probably ever done in his life for pleasure, but the rewards were delicious!  All around it was a winner of a day.

“Here, let me see your hand.” 

Ian had cleaned his cut and put some Aloe on it, then wrapped his thumb in a piece of brown butcher paper and tied it with fishing string to keep it in place.  He reached his hand over to Mickey as they sat on the porch steps after dinner.  Mickey gently uncurled Ian’s fingers, running his thumb along the inside of each as he stretched them out, suddenly forgetting all about Ian’s cut. 

“My sister used to read my palm.” He said as he the open palm of his own hand over Ian’s. 

Ian’s hands were larger and rougher than Mickey’s from years of outdoor work.  Mickey absorbed every detail lovingly.  He threaded their fingers together, then slowly slid his away again.  He ran his index finger along the grooves in Ian’s palm trying to remember everything Mandy had taught him. Mickey knew some, but not as much as Mandy.  She had learned to read palms from their Pops.  It was a family talent he had brought from the old country and used at parties or holiday gatherings. 

Ian watched him curiously, not saying anything, and just enjoying the feel of Mickey’s caress as he held his hand so gently, taking in every nuance.  

“This one here… that’s the life line.” He ran his finger along a line that cut diagonally through Ian’s palm. “You have a long life line, see?  Probably live ‘til you’re like 90.” 

Ian smiled and purposefully curled his fingers back around Mickey’s hand, nearly enveloping it completely.  Mickey gently pressed his fingers open again, flattening Ian’s hand and studying the lines once more.

“This line is your head line.  See how short it is?  It means you don’t think before you act. You’re rash and impulsive. You probably speak without thinking and say things you regret later.  Stubborn as shit.”  He laughed knowing his own head line was very similar and even shorter. 

He traced his fingers along another long line on Ian’s palm – it was the heart line, but he’d get to that in a minute. 

“Lucky for you, your long life line says you’ll probably get out of whatever shit your head line gets yourself into.” 

Mickey opened his own palm and studied the lines, trying to remember what Mandy had told about each.

“Let’s see…” He looked back and forth from his to Ian’s hand, then ran a finger along a line near the top of the palm, then back over to the heart line.

“This is your heart line.”  He ran his finger across it again, more slowly, then moved to a line that crossed over the heart line. “and this... is a marriage line.”

Ian looked at him, pulling his hand back involuntarily.  Mickey held it tight, ignoring the reflex reaction.

“So your heart line says that even though you’re a stubborn, impulsive ass, you probably do things with the best intention. Your head might not always be in the game, but your heart is. You mean well.”  He rubbed his thumb in small circles over Ian’s palm before continuing.

“You fall in love fast,” he said quietly.  “And you love deeply.  See the grooves, how deep they go into your palm.  You give it your all.”

Mickey held Ian’s hand in both of his own now, moving his index finger along the deep line. He took a breath in and swallowed, biting at his bottom lip, then ran his finger back over the marriage line. 

“This line says you’ll be married by the time you’re 30.  You can tell by where it crosses your life line… here.”  He looked at Ian and gave a small smile.  “Guess you should probably start planning your wedding soon, huh?”  He added.

Ian’s palm closed around Mickey’s hand, and pulled it over to his own lips to kiss it. They sat comfortably in silence for a while longer on the dark porch.

“Come on.  It’s getting cold out here.”  Ian pulled Mickey by the hand that he was still holding and led him back into the cabin.

“You want something to drink?”  Ian asked, going to the cabinet to see if there was anything more than whiskey or beer.

“Whatchu got?” 

“Hmm.  Whiskey.  Or Beer.”  Ian grabbed a fifth of whiskey and two glasses from a shelf, then went to sit in front of the fireplace. “Come on.  We’re gonna play a game.”

“A drinking game? I’ll drink you under the table, Gallagher.” 

They had already had plenty to drink with dinner and Mickey’s head was feeling light, but he was up for a good drinking challenge. Ian laughed.  Growing up in a family that distilled hard alcohol for a living, he doubted Mickey could drink him under the table, but he was willing to find out.

“Ok, the game’s called Truth or Drink.  We take turns asking questions, and you either answer it truthfully or you have to drink if you decide you don’t want to answer at all.”

He poured two double shots of whiskey into each glass and set them on the floor between them.

“Me first.” Ian said.  “How many siblings do you have?”

Mickey lifted the glass, and put it to his mouth, “Four.  A younger sister, and three older brothers.  Well, two now.  One recently passed away.” 

He took the drink in one big gulp, biting down at the sting in his throat.

“Oh, shit, Mickey.  I’m sorry.”  Ian said, earnestly.  Mickey shook his head as if it were old news. “Oh, and you don’t have to drink if you choose to answer.”

“Fuck that, I’m thirsty and this is good shit.”  Ian added more alcohol to Mickey’s glass.  “All right, my turn.” 

Mickey eyed him for a minute, not sure if he should ask a safe question or the burning questions that had filled his mind for several days.  Fuck it, it was a drinking game, right?  Nothing ever good comes from drinking games, so why not dive the fuck in, he thought. 

“Who’s Trevor?” 

Shit. Ian’s eyes got big and round.  He wasn’t expecting that.  Even though Fiona had warned him, he thought it was a forgotten subject.

“And give me a whole answer, not some bullshit answer.”  Mickey added.

Ian nodded slowly, then looked back at Mickey more confidently.  Ok, ok… 

“Trevor is an asshole that I hooked up with a couple times after I met him last spring.  I stopped seeing him about a month ago.  Actually, probably more like two months ago, since that was the last time we… well… you know…”

“Fucked.”  Mickey stated, and took another drink. 

Ian took a sip of his own and filled their glasses back up. 

“Ok, your turn.”  Mickey said, surprising Ian with his satisfaction to the answer.

“Ok, what kind of job do you do?”  Ian asked.

“I’m an FBI agent. I hunt down bad guys.” Mickey said with a wide smile on his face.  Ian burst out laughing and Mickey joined him.

“If you don’t answer truthfully, you have to drink!”  Ian said, pointing at the glass.

“Ok.” Mickey lifted the glass to his mouth, “But that was a truthful answer.”  Then he took a drink.

Ian’s face went stone sober.  His eyes glued to Mickey’s as he finished the drink.  Mickey’s eyes stayed on Ian.  The whiskey was taking full effect, warming Mickey’s blood and putting a blush in his typically pale skin.

“Are you serious?”  Ian asked.

“Nuh uh, you can’t ask me any more questions. It’s my turn.”  Mickey held his glass out for Ian to fill up.  “Let me think.  Does it have to be a question?” 

Ian thought about it and wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“Well, it has to be something that I answer with an honest response.”

“Ok.  Tell me a secret.” Mickey said, the lids of his eyes heavy with intoxication, as he took another sip of his whiskey and watched Ian curiously, hoping for a deep, dark, juicy secret. 

Ian watched him and tried to think of a secret worth telling.  Gallway Falls had a lot of secrets.  Mickey’s mouth bowed up in a little smile, his thick pink lips catching Ian’s attention as Ian studied each feature.  Mickey had these deep blue expressive eyes that seemed to have entire conversations all on their own.  His nose was narrow with a perfect sharp angle to it, the scruff on his face from not shaving that morning was a reddish tint in sharp contrast to both his pale skin and the nearly black hair that grew on top of his head.  Ian knew he was staring and didn’t care.  Mickey was stunning to look at. 

“Come on Gallagher.  You can fuckin’ stare at me any time you want to, I don’t mind.  But first, tell me all your secrets.” 

He drank the rest of his whiskey and held the glass out for Ian to fill it again. Ian added more whiskey, careful to only make it a single shot now, considering how quickly Mickey was knocking them back.  Ian’s eyes shot up to meet Mickey’s as he answered boldly.

“I produce and distribute whiskey every winter right here in these mountains.”

He held the bottle of whiskey up as evidence, then went ahead and drank the double shot that was in his glass, needing a little liquid courage for whatever response Mickey might have. Ian once again kept his eyes glued to Mickey’s.  So far neither of them was very sure if the answers the other had given had been truthful or not, considering each of them had chosen to drink after answering. 

Mickey’s slight smile never left his lips, his heavy-lidded eyes never wavered from Ian’s, both of them clearly either exposing themselves or lying intentionally.  He considered why Ian might lie about something like that, and concluded that there was no motive to lie. 

Mickey’s face lit up in a happy smile, “Well, aren’t we just a fuckin pair?”  Mickey tossed back the liquid in his glass.

Ian laughed nervously, and filled their glasses again. 

“I gotta take a piss.  Hold that drink until I come back.”  Mickey said.

He wondered off to the back of the house to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.  He balanced himself against the frame of the door and thought about what Ian had just said.  Why would he make something like that up?  Mickey thought of the multiple bottles of whiskey he’d seen the Gallaghers pull from their cabinets, including the stash that was here in the cabin. 

He thought of what Ian had said earlier about the mirror system in the caves, in case they needed to communicate in an emergency – maybe that was normal, he didn’t know anything about coal mining.  What he did know was that in the entire time he’d been in Gallway Falls, he hadn’t once seen a single coal truck go through town or any men coming from work covered in soot.  Shouldn’t there be dozens of men covered in soot after they got off work in a coal mine?

Ian leaned against the chair swirling the amber liquid in his cup and taking small sips every now and then.  Mickey… an FBI agent...  He tried to picture it, but couldn’t seem to see it.  Mickey, the guy who pulled him into the cabin last night when he thought they might be eaten by a bear, or the guy who thought a worm bit him and threw the entire rod and worm into the lake as he screamed like a girl to save his own life.  No.  He wasn’t buying it.  There was no way Mickey Milkovich was an FBI agent.

Then Ian considered the way Mickey carried himself when he walked, like he was the fucking King of Siam, with his swagger and attitude falling all over the floor around him. The way he talked, sharp wit and a sharp tongue.  He could definitely see Mickey as some mob tough guy maybe, but an FBI agent was a whole different kind of person.  Not in a million years.

Mickey came back into the room jerking Ian back to the here and now. 

“Ok, who’s turn is it?”  he asked as he sat back on the floor, closer to Ian now.  So close they were basically sitting shoulder to shoulder. 

“My turn.” Ian said.

He should have been thinking of something to ask. He could have followed up with his previous question – Are you serious about being an FBI agent – but he was pretty positive that had been a joke. 

“All right, let me think of something.” 

Mickey reached over and set his hand on Ian’s thigh, running his fingers up the inside of his thigh as Ian tried to think of a question. 

“Come on, Gallagher.  Anything.  I’m an open book.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that made him brave – well, yes, it was most definitely the alcohol – but Ian just went for it.

“Do you like me?  I mean, you know… like, like me like me?  Shit, that sounded stupid, but you know what I mean, right, _like_ like really like, fuck… I’m messing this up.”

Mickey was smiling as if he was going to laugh as Ian stumbled drunkenly over his words, and waited for him to stop talking.   He took Ian’s glass from his hands and drank the whiskey that was left in it, set it on the floor, then took Ian’s hand in his own.  Maybe he needed a little more liquid courage, or maybe he just really fuckin’ liked the whiskey – either way, Mickey picked up his own glass and drank that as well before answering. His mind and his tongue were as loose as they’d ever been.

Mickey opened his own palm, then opened Ian’s as well.  He lay his hand flat onto Ian’s, palm to palm, sliding his fingers in to thread with Ian’s, then slid them apart again, just as he had done on the porch earlier. Mickey ran his finger along Ian’s heart line once again, then brought Ian’s index finger to his own palm.  Ian sat and watched him make these slow but deliberate moves, never taking his eyes off of their hands moving over one another.

“My sister, Mandy, used to say that this was my marriage line.” He ran Ian’s finger along the short vertical line on his own hand. “I would roll my eyes at her because I thought she was being fucking ridiculous telling me that.  She knew I was… she knew I probably wasn’t gonna get married any time soon.  Just not in the cards for me, right?”

He looked at Ian, holding his eyes for a beat before opening Ian’s palm again.  He set their palms next to one another, running his own index finger first along his heart and marriage line, then along Ian’s.  they were almost identical, with Ian’s being cut more deeply into his calloused skin. 

“Yeah.  I like you like you.” Mickey answered quietly.  “I maybe even more than like you.”  Mickey’s palm closed around Ian’s and they sat for a minute in silence, neither of them looking away from their entangled fingers.

Ian suddenly jumped from his seat on the floor and grabbed the entire aloe plant from the kitchen, then pulled Mickey up as well, dragging him toward the bedroom. 

“Hey wait!  We need to… Ian, don’t we need to do shit… like put the fire out or something?”

“NO!  Right now the whole fucking place can burn to the ground.  I need you right fucking now!”

Ian said as he dragged a giggling, very drunk Mickey into the room and threw him onto the bed.


	32. Bunnies and Kittens

Mickey was fast asleep, curled into Ian’s shoulder with his mouth slightly open and a small pool of drool starting to form on Ian’s arm.  Ian chuckled quietly as he reached around and pushed Mickey’s chin up to close his mouth.  Mickey stirred, repositioning himself onto his stomach, freeing Ian’s arm.

Ian climbed from the bed and around the floor in the dark for his boxers before giving up. He assumed they had been flung to some far corner of the room when their clothes had started flying off.  He walked quietly from the room, bare as the day he was born, avoiding the creaky floor board right at the entry.  He pulled the door almost closed behind him. 

Feeling the chill in the cabin, he skipped his way over to grab a knitted afghan from the back of one of the chairs, slipping it snuggly around his shoulders.  It barely went below his waist but it was better than nothing.  Well, it really wasn’t, but it was all he had at the moment.  He went to the fireplace and checked the last of the burning embers, placing the screen safely in place for the night, then turned to pick up the glasses and whiskey they had been drinking earlier.  He rinsed the glasses in the sink and placed them back on the shelf, then turned to grab a few pieces of wood from a basket near the stove.

“Nice outfit.  You make that dress yourself?” 

Ian turned startled to see Mickey standing behind him.  He was dressed only in Ian’s discarded boxers. Mickey rubbed his eyes tiredly, then crossed his arms against the chill of the room.  He eyed Ian’s bare ass and legs and laughed at the get up he was wearing.

“What are you doing up?”  Mickey asked.

“I was just grabbing some firewood.  It’s getting cold in the room.”  He grabbed a small metal bucket from the floor that was filled with black coal and a few pieces of wood and walked back to the bedroom towing Mickey behind him by the hand.

Ian tossed the afghan from his shoulders onto the bed so as not to let it get in the way while he was trying to start the fire. He placed the coal and some kindling into the small wood burning stove in the corner, then stuffed in a few pieces of wood, still bare ass naked.  Mickey watched him, taking in every inch of his hard muscular body.  He moved fluidly through the task as if he’d performed it a thousand times.  Mickey realized he’d probably done it even more often than that. 

“Be right back.”  Ian jogged out of the room.

Mickey heard things being moved around in the living area, possibly the fire screen and was that a shovel scraping?   Sure enough, Ian was back a few seconds later with the small shovel from the fireplace set, and in it was the last of a burning log which he placed into the stove to get things going.

He ran over to the bed and jumped in, making the mattress bounce under his weight. 

“Jesus, you’re a fucking giant.  Stop bouncing around before I go flying off the fuckin’ bed.” 

Mickey was sitting against the headboard with the quilts pulled up around him, Ian climbed in next to him, laying his head across his blanketed lap. His body shivered as he curled his cold skin up close to Mickey’s legs beneath the blanket. 

“Holy shit, you’re freezing!  Stop!” 

Mickey tried to get away but Ian wrestled him closer, his size and weight overpowering Mickey easily as they laughed and fought under the blanket until Mickey was pinned beneath Ian.

“You’re a goddamn asshole, you know that.  Now we’re both freezing.” Mickey said as he surrendered under the weight of Ian’s heavy body above him.

“Come on, Mick,” Ian snuggled his cold toes around Mickey’s calves, “Don’t you like to cuddle?”  He held Mickey’s arms pinned against the mattress making it impossible for him to escape.

“I don’t know.  Never done it before.” Mickey mumbled, lifting his head in hopes of catching Ian’s lips in his own.

Ian’s head shot up and away from Mickey in the dark as he looked to see if Mickey was serious. 

“The hell do you mean you’ve never done it before?”

“What? You snuggle up with a lot of people, Gallaghers?”  He asked, eyebrows raised waiting for an answer.

“Well, no, not really, but everyone’s snuggled, Mick.  Didn’t you snuggle up on the sofa with your grandpa when you were little?  Or with all of your brothers and sister on a cold night?” 

Ian had.  There were many nights he and his siblings had cuddled up on the sofa listening to Fiona read while they sipped hot chocolate.  Mickey smiled at Ian’s sweet innocence. 

“Not exactly the kind of family I grew up with.”

Ian pulled himself up with his elbows on either side of Mickey. 

“Ok.  Tell me what kind of family you grew up with.” He said, genuinely interested to learn more about this man he was quickly falling for. He knew about Mickey’s dad, but surely there had been other people in his life who showed him affection and love, and cuddled with him under a blanket.

Mickey pulled at his bottom lip as he always did when he was thinking or nervous, quietly looking into Ian’s eyes.  He wanted to tell him.  He wanted to share things with Ian, and tell him about his life, and what he did, and who his Pops was, and about Mandy. 

Ian leaned in, gently placing his lips against Mickey’s until Mickey released his entrapped lip.  They kissed softly, Mickey slowly surrendering to Ian as he opened his lips to allow Ian’s tongue to meet his own.  He wanted to pull in in closer, deepening the kiss, but his hands were still pinned, so he let Ian lead until he finally pulled up again.  Ian looked at him with gently eyes, and waited for Mickey to talk.

“Well.  It definitely wasn’t Gallagher-esque, that’s for sure.”

Ian rolled to his side, freeing Mickey from his hold and making Mickey immediately miss the comfort of his weight on his own body.  They repositioned themselves so their legs were tangled around each other and the covers pulled up high to their chins, leaving only their faces exposed to the chilly air. Mickey swallowed, finding himself uncharacteristically nervous to tell Ian anything. 

“Ok.”  He took a deep breath and bit his lip again, “My mom died when I was a little kid.  I don’t remember her at all.  Terry, the fucking sperm donor, had me until I was 15.”  It wasn’t lost on Ian that Mickey hadn’t said Terry _raised_ me. 

“What is he like?”  Ian asked cautiously, not sure if it was too much to ask in Mickey’s obvious hesitant state of mind. 

“He’s the fucking devil incarnate, that’s what he’s like.  We all lived with him, me, Mandy, and our brothers.  Then when I was 15 I was home from school one day with a friend.  Just hanging out you know?”  No one was there, and this kid…” 

Mickey thumbed at his nose and rolled away from Ian, now facing the ceiling as he spoke. 

“…this kid and me were in the kitchen making some sandwiches when the back door opens, and Terry comes walking in with a bunch of his guys.  Gives the kid this weird look, then looks at me kinda the same, then back at the kid, and I could see the rage in his eyes just start to surface, that easily, you know.  Like, you didn’t even have to do anything to piss him off because he was always starting in Angry mode, but when you did something wrong, the rage just boiled up without notice.”

Ian slipped an arm over, laying it on Mickey’s stomach and Mickey reached for it under the covers, holding it steady in place.

“Anyway, Terry’s guys all go about their business and me and this kid go out back with our sandwiches to get out of the way, and about five minutes later Terry comes out there.  He looks at me again, with that hate in his eyes.  I knew why.  I always knew why.  I never fucking talked about … you know… how I was… but Terry could see it.  He saw it for a long time before I even knew and one day out of nowhere he just came up to me and pinned my neck against the wall… I musta been maybe eleven years old. Twelve maybe.  He pins me up against the wall right there in front of my sister and says, ‘I’ll fucking cut your dick off and shove it up your fucking ass if you thing you’re gonna be a pole fucking cock knocker, you hear me?  I’ll fucking kill you, so figure it the fuck out and get right.”

Mickey shivered involuntarily and pulled the quilt closer to him. Ian moved closer as well. 

“That was probably the first time I ever even realized myself what was wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mick.”  Ian said quickly, earnestly.

“You know what I mean, man.  I just… I knew.  And apparently so did Terry.  I don’t fuckin’ know how.  Anyhow, there I am sitting out back with my friend from school and Terry comes out and sees us sitting on a bench laughing. We were sitting real close, you know, ‘cause the bench was really small.  And my friend… he was telling me about some girl he was thinking about asking out, all telling me all these corny jokes.  We were just hanging out, not bothering anyone, when Terry pulls a fucking gun on us.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.  My friend freaked the fuck out.  Stands up, starts panicking and crying – first mistake.  Terry busts him across the head with his pistol, knocks him out.  I mean, this is just a kid, you know. Some scrawny nobody, and Terry’s like 6 feet tall, 250 pounds or more, and he starts kicking this kid when I jump in.”  Mickey hesitated a moment.  “I started screaming at him and trying to pull him off because he was beating the shit out of this kid. I thought he was gonna kill him.”

Mickey laced his fingers into Ian’s under the blankets and pulled his hand in tight around him.

“Terry turned on me.  Starts screaming at me, “What the fuck did I tell you, you fucking cock sucking faggot! You fucking piece of shit!”  Mickey mimicked Terry’s gruff, enraged voice. “Next thing I know I’m seeing stars. I mean, real fucking stars like you see in comic books.  Pow!  He fucking slammed my head against the concrete and that was almost all I remember.  That and a whole lot of fucking pain.”

Mickey moved Ian’s hand to his ribs. 

“When I woke up I was bandaged from head to toe.  Broken ribs, broken nose, my head was split open in a hundred different places, my eyes swollen closed, broken arm and leg.  I was a fuckin’ mess.   My sister was sitting there sobbing like I had died, and my Pops was there too – that’s my mom’s dad.  Up until then we never really knew him much. We’d see him in the neighborhood but Terry didn’t really let us talk to him.  Mandy told me later that she thought Terry had killed me.  These scars…”   

Mickey moved Ian’s hand over the marks that he couldn’t see in the dark, but he could feel.  To this day they still gave him phantom pains at times. 

“Apparently she found Terry stabbing me with a screwdriver that was out in the yard.  Fucking stabbed me, man.”

“Jesus Christ, Mick!”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding.  So, Terry… he’s a made man.”  He looked at Ian to see if he understood what that meant, but Ian’s expression didn’t change, “You know, the mafia.  He started out when he was about ten running with a crew on the South Side of Chicago.  Grew up and took the whole damn thing over.  Anyway, my Pops was not – he didn’t get involved in any of that shit. He was just a neighborhood guy tryin’ to do right by his family.  So, when I ended up in the hospital, I guess Pops went and asked for a favor.  I don’t know the details, to be honest.  I just know that after that day, Pops was involved in things that he didn’t necessarily want to be involved in.  Still clean, as far as I know, but had some debts to repay.   Anyway, Mandy and I went to live with him.  Never went back to Terry’s house again.  Almost never saw our brothers either.  They had a different mom, you know, so they stayed with Terry.”

Mickey yawned, exhausted from the tale. 

“Pops kept us out of things.” 

He moved to put his arm around Ian, closing his eyes as he curled into Ian’s chest.  The room was warmer now, so he pushed the quilt down from their shoulders and relaxed.  Ian tucked his nose into the Mickey’s neck and kissed him softly, listening as his breathing steadied.

“So… to make a long fucking story even longer, No, I can’t say I’ve ever cuddled with anyone.  Not in the world I came from.” 

He pushed himself even closer to Ian, closing all distance between them.

“Never even woke up next to another person.” He added. 

He turned his head to look at Ian who was looking back at him with doe eyes. 

“Hey, none of that.  I’m fine.  My life just wasn’t all bunnies and kittens, you know?”  He kissed Ian, pulling his head in close to him, not wanting to let go. “But this is good. You’re like a fucking cuddling bunny.  See… perfect.”

 

 


	33. The Fucking Boss

Lashes fluttered.  Mickey placed his thumb on the clef of Ian’s chin, then ran it along his jaw, drawing Ian from sleep slowly.  His lips slipped into Ian’s, pressing gently, then opening the kiss just a bit as Ian moved his lips below him.  Mickey smiled as he watched Ian struggle between sleep and consciousness. 

A month ago, Mickey would have bet his next paycheck that he would never be waking up next to some guy in the same bed the morning after they’d fucked.  That wasn’t how he did things. He hooked up then walked away before anyone had a chance to catch feelings.  Often, before anyone even caught first names.  Mickey didn’t talk into the wee hours of the morning about his family bullshit with other men.  He didn’t fucking cuddle, ever.  He didn’t hold hands.  He didn’t read palms and tell other men that they had the same heart line as his…oh fuck... He said marriage lines too, didn’t he? 

He shook his head a bit at his own ridiculousness because he didn’t do that shit.  A month ago. 

As he watched Ian fall back into a deep slumber, he took in the nuances of the man lying next to him.  The perfect cupid’s bow of his lips… Mickey slipped forward and kissed his lips again.  The dark red lashes on his eyes…  Mickey ran his thumb feather light across Ian’s eyelid, tracing it down along his cheekbone.  The seemingly endless number of faded freckles that weren’t strikingly obvious at first glance, but became all you could see when you looked long enough. Mickey looked long enough.  He loved every single one of those freckles. 

Ian’s arm stole out and pulled Mickey in, a soft smile forming on his lips as he slowly began to wake.   Mickey took another opportunity to slip his lips onto Ian’s, this time earning a kiss in return.  Yeah, he could get used to waking up next to Ian every morning.

Ian pulled him over so that he was laying on his chest, legs straddling the length of Ian’s own legs.  His large hand wrapped around the back of Mickey’s neck pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss, his hips lifting hungrily into Mickey. 

He ran his hands slowly down the length of Mickey’s back, letting his fingers fall in between each dip of his skin, memorizing him by touch, over and over again.  His hands rested in the small of Mickey’s back as he paid close attention to how it fit there – the exact way it sat on his skin and how it felt to rest in that exact spot – before moving it lower and pulling Mickey in tight against his hardening dick. 

“You feel so fucking good, Mick.”

Ian rolled them over, switching Mickey from top to bottom in one smooth move, their mouths ever connected.  He slipped a hand between their legs Ian reached to massage Mickey’s dick to full hardness, then ran his fingers lower to play at his balls.

Mickey pulled his lips from the kiss, “Ian, I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Mm mmm, later.”  He whispered, spreading Mickey’s thighs with his own legs.  Ian brought his finger to Mickey’s lips, “Suck.”

Mickey put his tongue out to pull Ian’s fingers into his mouth, slipping his tongue all around them to get them slick with spit.  Ian pulled them slowly from Mickey’s mouth, a long line of saliva stringing between them.  He slipped the wet fingers between their legs, moving along Mickey’s ass as he leans into another needy kiss, circling his fingers against Mickey’s tight ring of muscles. He works slowly, making Mickey hiss then sigh as he began to open him up.  Mickey bowed into his touch. Ian’s touch was slow, it was sensual, and it was pulling emotions from Mickey he’s never allowed himself to feel much less think about.  It was even overwhelming at times, making his heart ache.

Ian ran his nose along the side of Mickey’s face, leaving kisses along his cheek and his jaw, feeling the scratchy itch along his own lips from the dark auburn scruff of Mickey’s beard that grew a little thicker each day.  Ian couldn’t help but wonder what Mickey would look like in deep winter if he let it grow.  He kissed Mickey everywhere, taking his time to open him up, as Mickey sighed and relaxed under his gentle caresses. 

Mickey’s hands followed Ian, running his fingers through the thick red head of hair, holding his hand at the nape of Ian’s neck and pulling him in as close as possible.  He could feel the soft beard that Ian had been letting grow for almost a week tickling his chest as Ian kissed him and sucked small bruises into his skin.  Mickey peeked down at this gorgeous man tickling his skin.  Ian’s beard was also fire red and fucking beautiful to look at, making him look like some wild mountain man.  Mickey smiled at the thought – after all, he kind of was some wild mountain man. 

Ian moved down his torso, kissing along his ribs, leaving marks that would surely last for days, sucking and biting, letting Mickey’s hands guide him, moving with him, feeling him.  Mickey had never been touched like this in his life and his heart raced with every kiss Ian left on his skin.  His mind drifted farther and farther away from the rough world he had always known – a world where he was never allowed to feel this _wanted_ before.  He wondered for a moment if this was what love felt like – if this was why everyone spent their lifetime trying to find The One.  He wondered if Ian was The One. All he wanted is Ian.  The sensation of Ian’s fingers inside of him became too much, as Ian moved two fingers deep and slow, driving him to the edge faster than he wanted.

“Come here,” Mickey whispered, pulling Ian back up to him, “I’m good.  I’m ready.”

Ian was breathing heavy, holding himself up on one elbow over Mickey’s body, blue on green eyes holding onto each other a moment longer. Mickey reached beside the bed and broke a stem from the aloe plant, handing it to Ian with a wink, 

“Come on, man… need you.”

Ian broke open the stem and squeezed the lube into his hand, then rubbed himself hard. He pressed against Mickey’s hole slowly as Mickey pulled one knee to his chest, opening himself to his lover.  Ian entered in one push, moving deeper, drawing a moan from each of them as he pressed on, and finally bottomed out.

Mickey’s eyes were closed tight as his body adjusted to Ian, their noses touching, their breath heavy on the others lips.  Ian leaned down and closed the short distance between them and tasted Mickey again, their lips open just touching as they breath without kissing, their tongues meeting one another.  It was so soft and wanting that Mickey’s heart felt like it might burst. Only a beat or two, then he pressed forward sealing their lips in a heated kiss as his hands wrap around Ian’s ass and pull him in even deeper. Ian knew he could move now.

Mickey clung to him, enjoying the slow morning rhythm they had set, which was in direct contrast to the hard pounding sex they had just hours before when they had come to bed.  That had been heated, fast, and primal.  But this was intimate, slow, and teeming with passion and desire.  Every move was intentional, their eyes locked on each other as they pulled and pushed into each other together.

Ian began to pick up the pace, his fervor growing with each moan that escaped Mickey’s lips.  Mickey arched into Ian, pulling him in deeper with every thrust, biting his lip and closing his eyes to shut out everything except the feeling of Ian inside of him, on top of him, all around him.  It was only Ian he wanted to feel. 

Ian’s tucked his nose into Mickey’s neck, mouthing him, licking him, biting him, devouring him as he breathed in and drown in the essence he was coming to know as just Mickey.  It turned him on, making his dick rock hard as he picked up the pace, their movements now hungry and desperate as they both chased their orgasms.

Ian pulled Mickey’s leg up against his ribs, opening him and driving harder.  Mickey cried out a loud satisfied groan as the new position allowed Ian to hit his prostrate every time, sending electricity coursing through his spine and his legs. With each thrust, Mickey dug his nails into Ian’s shoulder and pulled him closer.  Another thrust, Mickey reached down and dug his hand into Ian’s thigh to pull him deeper.  More thrusts and Mickey’s mind lets go of every thought as white, blinding pleasure takes over.

“Ian, fuck-” he cried out.

Ian moved his hand between them, reaching for Mickey’s dick, although the friction of their bodies was more than enough.  Another thrust, and now a pull as Ian’s hand moved along Mickey’s shaft in time with each movement, “Come for me, baby…”

It’s always the same – it’s always those words – it’s always blinding and overwhelming as Mickey finally lost it, arching his back up as he grabbed desperately at Ian’s body, hot sticky liquid dripping and spurting from him and wetting their chests, as Ian chased down his own orgasm.

It almost wasn’t even audible, the word Ian breathes when his lips tucked in tight next to Mickey’s ear, his body ridged as he fought for release, but it was there, each time… “Mickey…”

He moved once, twice more, his legs quivering with exhaustion as he rode out the last of his orgasm curled firmly in Mickey grasp and thighs wrapped around his waist. The sweat and cum and heat and heavy breaths were the only things between them.

Mickey peppered soft kisses on Ian’s temple and cheek, over and over again, as he lay on top of him, running his fingers through Ian’s dripping scalp, leaving his hair sticking straight up in the air.  The sight of it made Mickey laugh a bit causing the muscles still tight around Ian’s now soft dick to contract, and making Ian jump at the hyper sensational feeling it sent through him.

“Ow, ow, wait, no, don’t laugh…” He says as he pulled out, making Mickey laugh even more, “Shit, ow… fucker!” 

Ian rolled away, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at Mickey who was still laughing a little.  They both needed space to cool down and breathe again.  The temperature in the cabin had dropped again now that the fire had burned out in the stove, but the cold air was refreshing and welcomed as Mickey pushed the last of the heavy blankets off his body. 

“My god, everyone should wake up like this every fuckin’ day.  There would be no wars or bullshit or fighting or anything if everyone just started their day feeling this good.”  His hand fell to the side, reaching for Ian’s. “Morning, Firecrotch.”

Ian cracked up laughing at the nickname he had become secretly fond of.  “Stop fucking calling me that, asshole.” 

“What do you want me to call you?  Red? Raggedy Andy? Freckles?  Fireballs”  The last one made him laugh at his own stupid joke as he lay there, eyes closed, happy and sated, trying to come up with more nicknames. “How ‘bout Trusty Rusty?” They were both laughing, “Gingerbread? Copper Top?”

“All right, ok!  That’s enough, Short Stack.”

“That the best you got, Red Rover?  I heard better insults from five-year old’s.”  Mickey moved quickly, pinning Ian’s arms at his side and laying all of his weight on top of him with his legs wrapped tight around the back of Ian’s knees, locking him in place.  “Not so tough now, are you, tough guy?”

Ian humored Mickey and pretended to struggle against his hold, most of his strength was lost due to laughing.  Mickey was holding him in place with all his might, rubbing the scratchy hairs of his chin under Ian’s arm, making him laugh more.

“What other insults you got about my height now, you fucking red headed giant!” 

Ian was dying, truly unable to move now from laughing so hard.

“Uncle!  Uncle!  Stop!”  He struggled to get out.

Mickey loosened the grip on Ian’s wrists and moved forward to place a quick peck on his lips. 

“That’s fuckin’ right, Carrot Top.  I’m the fuckin’ boss in this relationship.”

They both heard it.  They both saw that second of panic in the other’s eyes.  Mickey’s mind raced and tried to find a way to take it back.  He hadn’t meant to say ‘relationship.’  That was the wrong word!   He pulled himself up casually as if to get off of Ian, but Ian was faster, grabbing him around his waist and pulling him back in.  All of the light laughter from just a few seconds before was gone and Ian’s full strength was wrapped tight around Mickey, making sure he didn’t escape.

“I – uh… Shit, I’m sorry.  That was probably the wrong thing to say.” Mickey said quietly.  He swallowed hard and kept his eyes at Ian’s shoulder, avoiding Ian’s gaze as he bit at his lip.

Ian didn’t speak.  He kept Mickey on top of him, his palms spread wide on Mickey’s back as he moved his thumb in small circles along Mickey’s skin.  He could feel the small pulls as Mickey tried to move away from him, but Ian wasn’t having it.  Ian’s face was unreadable, his eyes patiently watching Mickey as Mickey struggled internally with what he had just said. 

Ian could wait.  He was patient.  He had all the time in the world for Mickey to relax and finally look at him.

The urge to get away and tell Ian to _fuck off!_ briefly crossed his mind, but he pushed away the instinct as quickly as it had appeared.  Mickey’s heart raced in his chest and he hoped Ian couldn’t feel it as they lay skin to skin.  Ian could. Ian’s grip was like a vice around his back, and Mickey knew the only way to move from it would be to push himself away forcefully, which he didn’t really want to do. He was suddenly scared to death of the words that had fallen from his mouth, he didn’t want to leave the warmth of Ian’s arms and ruin what had started out as a perfect morning.

Mickey bit his lip then glanced up through thick black lashes to look at Ian.  Ian’s mouth immediately bowed up at each end, making Mickey do the same.  It was slight, it was cautious, but it was there.

“Is that what you want, Mick?  A relationship?” 

His voice sounded sexy – still deep and rough from not having spoken much yet.  Ian watched Mickey worry his bottom lip some more, his eyes darting between Ian’s mouth and eyes, then back again. 

He nodded nearly imperceptibly and answered whisper quiet, “Yeah. Maybe.”  His eyes met Ian’s. “Is that ok?”

Ian lit up, a cheesy smile pulling across his face for a few seconds before finally answering.

“Ok.  You can be the fuckin’ boss.” 


	34. The Fed and the Bootlegger

A hot bath, hot coffee, hot sun pouring in on his skin, hot breakfast, hot chatty boyfriend.  Mickey looked around the cabin wondering how the hell he’d gone from running down mobsters on the filthy, crowded streets of Chicago’s South Side to all of this in less than a month.  He sat in an overstuffed chair in front of a large picture window that looked out onto the lake as Ian moved around the room, putting the boxes of supplies into different piles to be stored. 

Mickey listened as he opened doors to different rooms and set boxes inside, then returned, again for more, his mouth never taking a rest. Ian talked and talked and talked.  Not being a morning person – or an afternoon or evening person for that matter – Mickey would have normally told anyone else to shut the fuck up along with an intimidating raised eyebrow scowl, but for some reason, Ian’s voice wasn’t having that same effect on him.  He listened to everything Ian talked about – tourists and work orders and towns people and deliveries to Denver or surrounding areas, and hunting… Mickey hmm’ed or uh huh’ed at the appropriate times to whatever Ian said.

“Mickey, are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah… What?  Why are you looking at me like that?”  He said guiltily realizing that while he’d been appreciating the _sound_ of Ian’s voice, he hadn’t actually been listening at all.

Ian cocked his head at him and rolled his eyes.  “I asked you three times if you know how to shoot a gun.”  He raised his own brows impatiently, waiting for Mickey to finally answer.

“The fuck kind of question is that?  Who doesn’t know how to shoot a gun?” 

It was precisely at that moment that Mickey remembered he had wanted to talk to Ian about something important earlier, before things had gotten carried away under the blankets.

“Great! Let me finish putting these boxes in the shed out back and we’ll grab a few and go target practice later on today.  You up for a hike today?  I wanna show you something.”

Mickey was feeling considerably better, his muscles recovered from the soreness he’d suffered a few days earlier.  “Yeah, that sounds good. Need some help with those?” He moved to get out of his seat and went to help Ian move the last of the boxes into a closet.

“No, just relax.  I got it.”  Ian stacked three boxes on top of each other and lifted them walking to the back of the cabin.

Mickey went to their bedroom to fish through the bag he’d brought up with him.  He reached to the bottom, past the few clothes still folded inside, and grabbed his wallet.  It was a typical black leather bifold, with a few bills tucked inside the long pocket, and some folded obscure papers long since forgotten that were tucked in there as well.  Mickey’s ID was in the front left side pocket.  His badge pinned into the leather on the other side.

The back door of the cabin closed with a slam as Ian locked it up again.  Mickey listened to his footsteps making their way to the kitchen and dining area.  No time like the present.

“Hey.” 

“Hey yourself.”  Ian replied, looking up and seeing the curious look on Mickey’s face.  “Everything ok?”

Mickey tossed his open-faced wallet onto the table in front of them and bit at his lip nervously.  Ian looked down to see what he’d tossed there, his face freezing in surprise as he saw the gold eagle sitting atop the blue “FBI” lettering, a blue circle in the center, and at the bottom, the words “Special Agent” stamped into the metal.  Mickey tucked his hands into his front pockets and kept his eyes on the badge for a moment, then quickly looked up to Ian for his reaction.

Ian reached out and carefully unclipped the badge from the leather wallet, moving it in his hands and feeling the weight of it.  He read the words stamped into the blue circle in the center – “Investigation Department of Justice.”

“Is this real?”  He asked, finally looking up at Mickey.

Mickey nodded. 

“You really work for the FBI?”

Mickey took a deep breath and exhaled, nodding again.  Ian didn’t know how to feel.  Mickey hadn’t lied to him.  He couldn’t be upset with him for telling the truth, could he?   Plus, what was really so bad about it anyway?  Anyone would be proud to say that their boyfriend was a Special Agent for the FBI, right?  Anyone, perhaps, except the owner of the largest illegal whiskey distribution within 1000 miles.

“Wow,” He said quietly.

He turned the badge over in his hands, taking in every detail.  After everything Mickey had told him about his life and the world he had grown up in, Ian was astonished that he had gone on to fulfill such an amazing accomplishment.  His heart filled with pride for Mickey.  He hadn’t had any idea what Mickey really did for a living, but he had assumed it was some kind of manual labor of sorts. Ian had been so wrong.

“That’s incredible, Mick.  I’m… I’m really fucking proud of you.” He looked up to see Mickey looking back surprised.

“You are?” 

He hadn’t known what to expect from Ian with this new information, but it had always been Mickey’s experience that as soon as he told anyone he was a G-Man, they seemed to run off in the other direction as fast as possible.  Maybe that was just a symptom of living in a city where crime and punishment were bedfellows at every turn.  Either way, with the flow of alcohol that the Gallaghers seemed known to indulge in, he had been afraid Ian would be apt to run as well. 

Hearing Ian say he was proud of him was not what Mickey had expected.

“Yes, of course I am.  How the fuck did you grow up to work for the FBI?  I mean… I don’t know.  I’m just surprised I guess.”   Ian’s smile beamed.

Mickey could tell by Ian’s face that he was being genuine and was actually excited about this.  He smiled a little himself in relief.

“My Pops, I guess. I got into a lot of trouble after I went to live with him.  He, uh… he taught me to be better.  To be a better man. Got me involved in some programs to keep me off the streets, you know.  Not a whole hell of a lot to do on the South Side unless you’re running drugs for some street crew, but he kept me and Mandy close.”  He nodded his head a bit to the side dismissively, as if his accomplishments were no big deal.  “Anyway, got out of school and joined the police department, then a few years later…” He pointed at the badge to finish his sentence.

Ian stepped quickly toward him, pulling Mickey into a tight embrace and kissing the side of his head.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

Ian didn’t really understand his own reaction.  He should be scared.  He should be worried.  He should be running off to put distance between himself and Mickey, and warning his siblings that the Feds were in town just as quick as he could move.   But the truth was he just felt his chest swell with pride when Mickey told him how he’d earned that badge and none of those other things ever crossed his mind.  This man, that he was quickly falling for, maybe even falling in love with, was ‘something.’ 

He let loose of the grip he had on Mickey and handed him back his badge, their fingers touching for a few seconds as Ian held onto it briefly before letting it go. 

“I know last night my answer might have been a little confusing, you know, when we were playing that game and all… but I wanted you to know that I, uh… I meant everything I said.” Mickey said.

He wanted Ian to understand that he truly meant everything.  Not just about his job – but all of it.  Ian smiled warmly. 

“Ok, Mick.”

Mickey put his badge back into the wallet and went to tuck it into the bag in the room.  When he came back out, Ian was handing him a light jacket and a flask full of water.  There was no tension, no fear, no worry between them.

“You ready?”  Ian asked.  Mickey nodded.  Ian turned to closet, pulling out keys to unlock the padlock. When he pulled the door open, it revealed an arsenal of weapons, including crossbows, rifles, pistols, and even a tomahawk. 

“What the hell!?”  Mickey exclaimed as he pulled out the tomahawk, then quickly placed it back, trading it for the Tommy gun.

“Careful with that, Mick.  That’s for experts only.”

“No fuckin’ shit.  What are you doing with it?” He asked, eyeing Ian suspiciously as Ian smiled at the arsenal in front of them.

“I was trying to hook myself a Fed, Mick.  Gotta have the right bate for that.”  He winked at Mickey. “Pick yer poison, Milkovich.”

“Can I have more than one?”  He asked happily, picking up one gun then exchanging it for another, over and over again. He felt like a kid in a candy store.

“You can take what you can carry, but we’re also about to do an eight mile round trip hike UP a mountain, so choose carefully.”  Mickey groaned at the idea of hiking eight miles, making Ian laugh, “Don’t groan.  I’ll take you back to the hot springs after so you won’t be so sore tomorrow.”

Mickey perked up at his memories of the hot springs and gave Ian a wily smile.  Eight miles? No problem. 

The chill in the air had finally surrendered to the sun as it came over the mountain and melted the frost from the earth. 

“Don’t we have more work to get done here?”

“Yep.  But it can wait until tomorrow.”  He turned to Mickey, “We can stay longer if you want.  I gotta get back by Friday night though.  The Speakeasy opens for the season this week, then we have the Fall Festival.  Shit, now that I think about it, we really can’t stay longer.  But we can come back.”

“Wait a minute.”  Mickey stopped walking.  Ian had spurted out all of that so quickly that Mickey was sure he’d misheard him.  He remembered Sheila telling him about the Speakeasy, but it had all sounded like some dive bar.  Hearing Ian mention it also reminded Mickey of the secret Ian had told him the night before.  “What did you just say?”

“I said we can come back sometime, stay longer. We can stay all winter if you want.”  He chuckled.

“No, before that.”

Ian thought about what he’d said – there was Stay longer, Back by Friday, The Speakeasy, The Fall Festiv… Shit.   He looked at Mickey.  Mickey, his wonderful, beautiful, amazing, sexy as hell, fucking Federal Agent boyfriend. 

“I said the Speakeasy opens on Friday.”  He said a little bit more uneasily.

Mickey dipped his chin to his chest and took a big sigh. 

“Were you fucking serious last night when you told me that …secret?” 

He was afraid the truth was more than he should hear right now. He didn’t look back up at Ian.  Instead he closed his eyes and pierced his lips at the silence that was sitting there, awkwardly between them.

Finally Ian spoke.

“So, that hike we’re about to go on…“  Mickey looked up at him, eyebrows raised in anticipation as Ian hesitated. “It’s… up there.” 

He pointed to the ridge at the top of a nearby mountain.  “In one of the caves I showed you, remember?”

“Yep.”

“There are stills in there.  Whiskey … well, mostly.  Plus, maybe some of the guys make beer too.”  He said plainly, then added, “Ok, definitely some beer too.” 

There it was.  Ian Gallagher, big time Prohibition Whiskey/Beer Making Motherfucker was taking his Badass FBI Special Agent Boyfriend on a little walk through the forest to go see where all the goodies were hidden.

“Fuuuck.” 

They stood there, Mickey looking out at the lake, biting his lip and contemplating how deeply he wanted to dive or if he should just turn and leave before he became complicit.   Ian watching him closely, trying to decipher what came next.  He knew before he had decided to take Mickey up to the caves that this was a matter of trust.  He’d never taken anyone outside the Family to the cave, but Mickey was… what?  Why had Ian made that decision?  Mickey was brand new to him, still.  He could have been anyone or anything – in fact he WAS.  He was a goddamn Federal Agent whose entire existence was to catch and put away the bad guys.  He had said so himself just the night before. 

Ian kicked himself realizing that taking leap of faith with Mickey might have been a bad idea, and he’d put his entire family – no! – the entire town in danger.  Stupid stupid stupid!  His heart raced and pounded in his chest as the panic started to build and he realized everything that was at stake.

Mickey looked up at him with a blank stare, watching the panic build in Ian.  He thumbed at his nose as he was apt to do in situations he found particularly uncomfortable or perplexing.  A quick glance at the lake, then up to the top of the ridge where the cave sat somewhere in the shadows, then back to Ian Gallagher, his stupid, trusting, criminal boyfriend.  He took several steps in Ian’s direction, grabbing Ian’s wrist as he passed, and pulling him along.

“Well, let’s get going then.  I wanna get back to the hot springs before it’s too late so you don’t try to get yourself out of giving me a fucking massage.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave this hanging, but I've been going about 40 hours straight and that is all I can do tonight! Catch you on the flip side


	35. Not All Mobsters Are Monsters

They hiked only about a mile through rugged mountain terrain before coming to a groomed dirt road which they followed the rest of the way.  It was a long walk, but not as difficult as Mickey had expected it to be, and even though the road wound back and forth, adding to the distance, he was grateful that it wasn’t as steep of a climb as it would have been if they had tried hiking off trail instead.

Once they were no longer climbing through the rugged landscape, Mickey stopped walking long enough to cathc his breath, then came straight out and asked Ian to tell him everything.  Ian should have shut his mouth, but he looked at Mickey and decided Fuck it!  He wanted this man in his life, and in order for that to happen he had to be willing to take a risk.  He just hoped Mickey felt, or at least was on his way to feeling, the same way.  If they were going to call this a relationship, then it was time they put all their cards on the table.

As was becoming the norm with them, Mickey did most of the listening while Ian talked and spilled the beans.  It was a long hike and he spilled a lot of beans.  He told Mickey about Frank and his brother Clayton who had been in and ongoing family feud over the money they had inherited from the gold mine.  He explained how Fiona had taken the money their father hadn’t squandered yet and started investing it into the town – stores, farming supplies, the outfitter’s businesses, a cattle and chicken farm, and several other town businesses that directly benefitted the people of Gallway. 

She’d made other investments in Denver as well. They had money tied up in hotels and trucking companies, along with a half dozen other businesses in one way or another.  Fiona was definitely some kind of savior when it came to Gallway Falls.  She’s saved the towns people from losing everything back in ’29 when the banks crashed, and somehow managed to build a thriving, working community where everyone ate and drank as well as their neighbors did.

Ian told Mickey about the Fall Festival which was being held a month late out of respect for Old Man Mortenson.  Mickey had been under the impression that his death was recent, considering they’d said a prayer for him at the Sunday Worship, but Ian explained that he’d been sick a long time before he died, and no one felt particularly festive knowing his dire condition, so the Festival had been postponed. Old Man Mortenson had been in this town for almost his entire 97 years, and was an active member of the community, playing the grandfather role to many of them.  He was also a kickass piano player, Ian mentioned.

“So, this festival.  What is it exactly… You get clowns and carnival shit, and people come to town?” Mickey asked.

“No, not exactly. Folks down in Estes Park and Boulder come up – we get lots of people going through Denver.  There might be even more of them since the Speakeasy is opening.”  Ian glanced nervously at Mickey at the mention of the Speakeasy which Ian had yet to dive into. 

“Anyhow, the whole town comes together and they bring their goods. Crops, food they’ve canned, fresh pies, blankets they’ve made, clothes and household items that still have some use, old tools, stuff like that.  The ranch brings in cuts of beef and pork, and we get it all stored away here in case the winters are too rough to bring it in later. Then it’s like a mix of a giant market and a party all day long.  Everyone bartering with each other for things they can use.  Out of towners purchase stuff they want.  Lots of food.  Lots of … stuff to drink.” He finished.

“What’s the deal with this town and bartering?” Mickey asked, ignoring the last part about stuff to drink for the moment. “Carl said something about that the other day.”

“Yeah, that was something we all sort of came up with a long time ago.  Rather than use money for everything we do, we try to barter it first.  Some folks around here don’t have much money.  Some don’t have any at all – you know, older folks who have no income, no family here, or anything. So we try to use the barter system.  Take what you need, pay it off in trade – work or goods.  Or cash if you got it.  Everyone likes cold hard cash, right?”

“And who manages all of it?”

Ian looked at him curiously.  Mickey still wasn’t grasping it, so he tried a new approach.  “You know back home – your home, Chicago – how they have all the bad guys and stuff?”

Mickey chuckled, “You watch a lot of talkies?  They’re called gangsters… the Outfit… The Family, and their crews.”

“Ok, got it _Special Agent Milkovich_ … so think of it like that.  We ALL work for The Family – technically, my family. Fiona is the – what do you call the Boss?”

“A Capo – but sounds like she’s the Capo dei capi – The boss of all bosses.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely that.  Ok, so Fiona’s the Capo dei capi, so I guess that makes Lip second in command since he handles …. I’ll get to that.  I’m in there somewhere, I guess.  We all talk about what needs to be done, but at the end of the day, Fiona calls the shots and makes the final decisions.  We don’t always like what she decides, but she tries to do things with the good of the entire town in mind.”

Mickey had to laughed a little at the irony of it all.  He’d run halfway across the country to escape his ties to the mafia and his father’s crew, only to find himself mixed up again with The Gallagher Outfit … completely with illegal booze, which they still had yet to cover in detail, and what sounded a whole lot like tax evasion by the system they were running.  Only the Gallagher’s outfit was missing the bloodshed and chaos – or at least he hoped.

“All right.  I get it, I think.” 

They walked a few minutes not saying anything.  Mickey could see the opening to the cave about another ten minutes from where they were.  It was framed out like giant steel barriers at the front, blocking the entrance like any used up coal mine would be.  He was running out of hiking time and new he needed to ask more question even if he didn’t like the answer.

“So, tell me about the Speakeasy… and this whiskey you’re about to show me?”

Ian stopped walking.  A step or two later Mickey stopped and turned to wait for him.

“Did I hear Fiona mention it the other night?  At the house?” Ian asked.

“Maybe.  She said there was some old stock from when your family used to run a distillery.” 

Ian twisted his mouth and nodded, huffing a little chuckle at Fiona’s choice of words. 

“Ok.  By ‘used to run,’ she really meant _still_ run.” He waited for a reaction, but Mickey wasn’t giving one.  “And by ‘old stock’ she probably meant we ship out multiple semi-truck to the west coast and another dozen or so trucks going east… every other month” He looked at Mickey and waited again.  Again, Mickey didn’t give one.

Instead he stared at Ian, a dead pan expression on his face for several seconds as he mulled over the information Ian had just fed him, then he busted up laughing!  He laughed so hard he had to fold himself over, holding his stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

“What … the… hell!  Are you – are you fucking kidding me!?  Oh my god, this is a joke right?  You’re playing a fucking joke on me?  Is this a joke?” He asked as he began to pull himself together.  “Seriously, are you and your family playing a joke on me?” 

The humor in his voice was almost sounding a bit more like desperation as he looked to Ian to confirm it had all been a big joke. Ian shook his head quickly, a little freaked out at Mickey’s hysterical response. 

“No!  No, it’s not a joke Mickey.  The other day when Lip and I left town, we went to Denver to get the road crew to bring some supplies back that we’ll need for winter production.  And… well, those same trucks left town the next morning, when you and I came up on our hike. Filled with crates and barrels of whiskey.” 

All the fucking cards.  Right there. On the table.  For the fucking Federal Agent of Prohibition to see.

Mickey scrubbed his hands over his face, still chuckling as he listened, shaking his head in disbelief.  This couldn’t be real.  None of this could possibly be happening.  He’d driven a thousand miles to escape the craziness of the racketeering bootlegging world that nearly killed him, actually literally tried to kill him – only to find himself knee deep in an equally crazy escapade, only now he was personally involved with one of the head honchos himself.  This had to be some fucking joke. 

When Ian had said they made whiskey, he expected it to be some rinky dink operation that no one would blink twice at.  Something he could just close his eyes to and enjoy whenever a dusty bottle was pulled from the shelve to enjoy – but this wasn’t a rinky dink operation.  He shook his head slowly… slowly… avoiding eye contact with Ian who was standing there twisting his hands around each other nervously.

“You have more questions?”  He asked cautiously.  “I swear, Mickey, I’ll … tell you the truth.  I am…”  He wanted to say ‘sorry’ but that wasn’t true.  He wasn’t sorry, not one bit.  He had chosen to tell Mickey everything because all of it was a part of who he was, and he wanted Mickey to know what he was getting into if he chose to stay.  “I’m so fucking scare of what you must be thinking right now.  Can you say something?  Anything… please.”

Mickey turned and started back up the road.  In his head he just kept screaming, ‘ _What the FUCK!_ ’

“Mick.  You ok?”  Ian asked as he jogged to catch up.  “Mickey?”

“Tell me about the Speakeasy.”  He said dryly.  “Sheila told me a little, but I guess I was pretty tired when she did and I thought it was just some... I don’t know.  Plus, this fuckin’ story gets a whole lot more interesting now that I know who’s making the booze.”

“Uhm.  Well, it’s usually open from October through about May.  Friday’s and Saturdays- sometime Sunday if the weather is decent.  We get a lot of people in town, mainly from Boulder and Estes, but there are a lot of our clients in Denver who send their customers up too, you know, from the hotels.”  Ian racked his brain trying to decide which details were necessary to this story and which were not.  “We, uh… we don’t actually _sell_ booze there, because that’s, uhm, illegal.”

Mickey busted out in a loud laugh again, as he ran his hands through his hair, and shook his head.  He’d heard it all! 

“Way to cling to the fucking technicalities, Gallagher.  Go on.”

“People pay a door fee to get in, pay to dance with some hired dancers, pay for music requests from the band, food, that sort of thing – but all the drinks are on the house.”

“Well, thank fucking god for that at least.”

Mickey’s head felt dizzy, and he didn’t know if it was due to the high altitude and lack of oxygen, or the near panic attack that was trying to build up inside of him over all the information.

“So, I guess that’s pretty much it.”  They rounded the curve of the road and a large blasted out area of the mountain appeared before them.  There were a few cars and trucks parked there, some of them looking like they’d been sitting there more than a decade rusting away.

Ian reached for Mickey’s arm which was quickly jerked away, making Ian cringe.  It had been reflexive and Mickey wished he hadn’t done it, wanting Ian to reach for him again, but instead they both stood there on that mountain, not talking for a long time.

Ian wanted to reach out again, to just touch him.  He needed to actually just to calm his nerves, but he wasn’t sure Mickey wanted anything to do with him, now or ever really.

“Mick.  I need you to listen to me for a second.”  Mickey nodded as he looked at the ground.  “I, uh… I know we really just met and all of this has to sound a little … crazy.  But, you’re important to me, Mickey. Do you hear me?  You’re important to me.” 

Mickey’s head shot up as he caught Ian’s eyes.  The feeling was mutual, but years of training and fighting this system had him at a cross roads he hadn’t expected to have to cross.

“This means something to me, Mickey. Sharing this with you.  I’ve never done this before, and I may have just made the biggest fucking mistake of my entire life.  I may have just signed away my freedom by telling you any of this, and by bringing you here, but…”

Ian reached out to touch Mickey’s arms, scared he might pull away again.  He didn’t.  Ian put both of his hands on his shoulders, rubbing them down Mickey’s biceps and turning him so they were facing each other. 

“Mickey.  I don’t know if you’re staying or leaving, but if it’s a choice… I’d really like it if you stayed.  This is my life.  This is what I do.  It keeps our town alive and fed, and we take care of each other.  I can’t change that.  I wish I could say I _wanted_ to change it so that it all sounded a little more acceptable to you, but the truth is I don’t.  Prohibition is a fucking joke – the whole country knows it, and next month they’ll probably vote it out and none of this will matter.  But today, right now, THIS is who I am.  This is how my town survives.  And I want that to be ok for you.” 

He waited for Mickey to say something, anything.  To pull away or push his arms off, or curse him out, but Mickey only stood there quietly.  “I want you to stay.  With me.”  Ian added quietly.

Mickey reached his hand around Ian’s neck and pulled him in, kissing him and hating everything about this situation, but still kissing him.  He didn’t have the words he needed right now to clear his head of everything Ian had just told him, but he knew one thing - He wanted to stay.  And if he had the choice, he was pretty sure he was going to. 

Ian was right.  The years of Prohibition had been some of the worst years in Chicago and across the country, with organized crime and murders on the rise every year, all tied to whoever controlled the booze.  But here were the Gallaghers who had found some way to beat the system, run their alcohol ring and their Outfit all under the radar, while helping each other to survive. 

Mickey pulled back a few inches from Ian, looking at him earnestly. 

“We’re ok.  You and me.  All of this.  It’s ok.  You don’t need to worry. I just… I need a fucking minute to wrap my head around everything, all right?”  he patted his hand against Ian’s face gently, and stepped back, “You fucking Gallaghers are killing me.” He added with a laugh.


	36. Private Reserve

Terry’s hand didn’t shake as he pulled the trigger.  It never did.  He didn’t give a shit if you were a drunk bastard in the gutter or his closest ally.  If it was your time to go, he was more than happy to pull that trigger.

“Clean up this fucking mess.”  He said as he tossed his pistol on the table and stepped over the blood that was beginning to pool from the dead body on the floor.  “Tommy!  Let’s get the fuck out of here!” he yelled as he descended the staircase for the front door.  

Two heavies jumped up from the seats in the foyer, pulling their guns from their jackets, and led him out to the car, one walking in front and one in back.  Terry never went anywhere without heavy bodyguards around him.  There were too many people on these streets who would like to see him dead, and he didn’t trust anyone – not even the men in his own crew, but what the fuck could ya do, right?

Tommy was at the door, counting out some money to Svetlana who was standing there in slightly more than her underwear. “Call Castini.  They’ll get someone over here to take care of that mess.” He said. 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at Terry as he climbed into the back seat of his car, yelling once more, “Tommy, get the fuck out here!”

“Go.” She said impatiently.  “Your master is calling you.”

“Fuck off, Svet.”  He handed her several more bills, “Make sure none of those girls talk.”

“I know the fucking drill,” she said, yanking the bills from his hand and folding them into her bra.  “Go, before he has a heart attack.”

Tommy stopped himself from saying the words sitting in his brain – _we could only be so lucky._

Terry had turned into a wild card ever since Colin was killed and Hammer went missing. He never once questioned Mickey’s fate, assuming the job had been done as expected.  Mickey’s car had been found back at his apartment, with the missing file boxes in his kitchen.  Most of the files were still there, except of course, any files implicating Terry in any wrong doing. 

Mickey’s partner, Sullivan had checked in with one of Terry’s men when the job had been completed.  He assured the guy that all evidence had been destroyed.  When news never came of the missing Federal Agent, Terry assumed he worthless piece of shit youngest son was just not considered newsworthy.  He’d always known Mickey was a fucking waste of oxygen.  He’d gone missing and the cops didn’t even show an interest into finding out what had happened to him

Sullivan’s debt to Terry had been wiped clean, as agreed.  But a new problem had posed itself – with Hammer on the run with $10,000 of Nitti’s money, Terry no longer trusted any of his boys to take care of collections.  And to make matters worse Nitti, the new Capo dei capi who had taken Capone’s place, wanted his money, and he was getting tired of Terry’s excuses. 

The car pulled away from the murder scene back at Svet’s brothel into heavy evening traffic, The man Terry had left with a bullet in his head was one of his own soldiers.  He had simply shown up there to report that there had been no new leads on Hammer in almost 3 weeks, and on top of it, to let Terry know that several clients had fallen short on payment as well.   The lack of news on Hammer probably would have been enough to set Terry off, and the messenger might have gotten away with a busted nose or something, but Terry was desperate for his money, and so the news of clients not paying had earned him a bullet through the skull.

Tommy sat in the front seat of the car, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously as they went back to the compound.  He knew that if they were going to keep control of their crew, Terry needed to be tamed as soon as fucking possible.  One or more of his men seemed to be coming up missing every day.  They no longer trusted the Milkovich’s to run the crew, and they were going to other Capos and running their mouths.  They already thought it was bad enough that a Ukrainian scum like Terry Milkovich had been granted position as a Capo. He wasn’t Sicilian. And he was dangerous and flighty, but his roots in the outfit ran deep.  Capone had made the decision himself, and no one ever questioned the Capone’s decisions.  But Capone was gone now.   It was time for Terry to go as well.

_***_

Jack, Mikey, Brian, Willy, Nathan, Gregory, and a dozen other men that Mickey couldn’t remember their names, greeted him exactly the same way every time Ian introduced him – a wide, friendly smile and an enthusiastic handshake, sometimes with a pat on the back, telling him how happy they were to meet him.  If this was the Gallagher’s Crew they were nothing like the crews back in Chicago. 

These men were warm and affable, telling Ian to bring Mickey around to their cabin’s sometime for dinner or drinks. They were the same with Ian, who was their boss apparently, talking about their families and sharing their excitement for the upcoming Winter Season.  As it turned out, Summer Season was all about delivering stock and tourists.   Winter season, was when the men of the town returned from their lives on the road and spent their time at home or in these old mines producing more stock to be sold the following year.   Winter was the best time to do it, since it was a lot more difficult for outsiders to make their ways up these mountain roads and accidentally stumble upon something they shouldn’t.

Ian took Mickey deep into the mine, past the façade of a rundown front which was scene from the road.  There were a few men who worked days upfront, to ward off any stray visitors and remind them that abandoned mines were deadly and dangerous.  Once you got past that façade, the mine itself was more like a series of caves than it was tunnels, all of them lit with electric power.  Ian credited it to the hydroelectric system built a while back to subsidize Estes Park.  He simply said it was good to have wealthy friends who liked whiskey, and it helped that Fiona had a vested interest in some Estes establishments as well.

They made their way back to a large storage area lined with full crates, ten or twenty deep, from floor to ceiling.  While everything there should have been red flags and whistles screaming at Mickey to put some distance between himself and this operation, he found that it was having the exact opposite effect on him.  Watching Ian at home here, laughing and chatting with the other men, seeing how proud he was of what they had built, and hearing stories from those workers who talked about all the Gallaghers had done for them and their families was inspiring.  His eyes followed Ian where ever he went, and Mickey’s heart followed along too.

“Hey Mick, come here.  Wanna show you something.”  At the far end of the store room were wooden shelves lined with labeled bottles. Ian pulled one from the shelf.  “These are our special reserve bottles.  Fiona has the labels made for them when a special occasion happens – births, weddings, milestone events, you know?” 

He grabbed a crowbar hanging from a nail and opened one of the dusty crates on the bottom shelf, pulling a bottle out.  He handed it to Mickey.  It was marked with the original Gallagher Whiskey black label which no longer adorned any of the current stock. A date was marked at the bottom of the label in a fancy script – May 11, 1906. Beneath that it read Ian Clayton Gallagher. 

“This is mine.   She had them made for each of us, with our birthdates as well.  We each got like four cases on our 18th birthdays.”  Mickey ran his thumb across the label, a smile pulling at his lips.  He went to hand it back to Ian, “No.  You keep it, Mick.  I want you to have it.”

“You sure?” Mickey pulled the bottle back quickly, hoping Ian said yes.

“Sure.  I don’t really do anything with them.  Lip drinks one of his every year on his birthday, but then again he drinks the same whiskey in unlabeled bottles all year round so I don’t really see what’s so special about it.”

Mickey was looking at the bottle like he knew exactly what was special about this one.  Ian had pulled it from a nailed crate which was still full, just for him.  “How many do you have left?”

“4 crates, minus this one… so 47” 

“Ok.  Thank you.” He said quietly.  “We should, uh… we’ll open this one on your birthday.”  He looked up to see Ian beaming.  Opening it up on Ian’s birthday meant only one thing – Mickey was planning to be in Gallway for a while.  Ian pushed him gently until he backed against a stack of crates, leaning into him in for a fervent kiss. They were lost in each other for several moments before someone cleared their throat loudly behind them.

Mickey nearly dropped the bottle Ian had given him as he pushed Ian away, instinctually putting distance between them as if nothing had happened.  Ian kept his eyes on Mickey for a moment, a little stunned at his reaction, before calmly turning to see who had interrupted them.

It was Lip… again… of course.  He stood there, a smug grin on his face as his bloodshot eyes darted from Mickey to Ian and back again.  Mickey was looking at the floor avoiding his arrogant contemplation like a plague. 

“Did I interrupt something?”  Lip said smartly, laughing haughtily at Mickey when he dropped his head.

Ian walked toward him quickly, hoping to pull Lip’s attention away from Mickey, seeing how uncomfortable Mickey was at having been caught kissing again.

“Fuck you, Lip.  What d’you want?”

“Well, fuck you too, little bro.  But I’m not the one giving personal tours to visitors. I stopped by to check on things and someone mentioned how nice it was to meet Mickey.”  Lip looked distrustfully at Mickey, now suspected gangster.  “Imagine my surprise.”  He said plainly.

“Is that a problem?  You bring Katie up here all the time.” He knew it was a horrible example but it was the best he could come up with.

“ _Katie_ was fucking born here, Ian.  No offense, Mickey.  I don’t think it’s exactly the same thing.”

Ian stepped up to Lip, towering over him by nearly 6 inches and standing his ground in the argument.  He could smell the alcohol oozing from his brother, which was nothing unusual.

“Are you fucking drunk?  Did you drive up that mountain fucking drunk again?”

“Don’t worry about what I do.” He took great effort not to slur the words, but failed.  He looked back at Mickey, “You should be worried about your new toy over there.”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Mickey stepped up fast to Lip but Ian was between them before Mickey could reach him.

“I’m not talking to _you_ , Mickey _._ Having a private conversation with my brother.  Maybe you should step out.”

Mickey bit at his lip, fist clenched, and looked around, noticing other men were beginning to gather around them. He’d been in a hundred heated situations and never once back down from a fight, but the look on Ian’s face, pleading with him to just let it go, left him feeling soft and pathetic.  Rationally he knew that all those men staring at him cared about was the exchange currently taking place between Lip and Ian, but having come from the streets of Chicago, what he saw was them judging him, hating him for what he was.  He needed to get out of there before things got out of control.

“Fuck you, you fucking prick.”  Mickey spat at Lip.

“Hey, don’t get fucking mad at me.  You shouldn’t be here.  Ian knows that.  Get pissed at him for putting you in this situation.” Lip slurred as he pushed the blame onto Ian.  But for Lip – for drunk Lip – knowing when to shut his fucking mouth wasn’t one of his special talents, “Besides, it’s not like you’re gonna be around long. Everyone knows Ian doesn’t do relationships… ain’t that right, Ian?” Lip sized Mickey up and down, before adding with a smirk, “You’re nothing but a warm mouth to him.  Flavor of the season.  Probably better that...”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Ian punched him hard across his jaw, sending him flying into the wall.

“Shit!” Lip wiped blood that was pouring from his nose, “You fucking asshole!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!!”  Ian seethed as he dove at Lip. Before Lip could get up, Ian was on him again, landing blow after blow as Lip tried but failed to fight back.  Mickey tried to grab Ian and pull him back, but it took several of the other men to take hold of both of Ian’s arms before they pulled him off.  Ian struggled to get back in the fight as another man went to help Lip sit up.

Leaning back on one elbow, Lip attempted to sit up straight, losing his balance and falling back again.

“Goddamnit, Ian!”

Ian finally settled enough so that the men released his arms, and he turned to Mickey to say something, but Mickey had heard enough.  He was red with rage, ready to escape the whole situation before he jumped on Lip and did his own damage.  He slammed the bottle of whiskey hard into Ian’s stomach, letting it go nearly before Ian was able to grab hold and keep it from hitting the floor, then turned to leave.

“Mickey, wait!”

“Just… fucking let him go, man.” Lip moaned as he wiped a hand across his bleeding lip.

“Shut the fuck up, Lip!  I’m not kidding, I swear to god, I’ll…”

“HEY!  That’s enough.  You’re not fucking five-year olds.”  Mickey barked, turning around once before he left.  He was fucking pissed and tired of hearing any more of the Gallagher’s bullshit.  “I’m fucking gone anyway.”


	37. On the Road Again

Mickey walked fast, pushing past several of the men who had gathered around. Both of his fists were clenched as Ian and Lip continued their argument behind him.  That cave or mine or whatever the hell it was seemed to go on forever as he tried to find his way out and back into the daylight.  He needed to get away from their bullshit.

Mickey had made it a hundred yards out of the mine when he heard Ian coming up fast behind him, but he kept walking, nearly jogging, to get as far away from him as he could.  It only took Ian a few seconds with his giant giraffe legs to finally catch up to Mickey.  He ran a few extra steps then turned, putting up a human road block with his arms straight out in front of him, bringing Mickey to a stop as well.

“Mick…”

“DON’T fucking call me that!”  Mickey tapped at his own nose with his closed fist, looking all around.  Ian, always so patient, nodded and waited for him to calm down.

“Mick-ey. Please just… wait a minute.”

“The fuck do you want me to wait for?  Huh?” He asked pointedly, his eyes glistening with anger and pain.  “Can you fuckin’ move please?”

Ian went to lower his arms to let Mickey pass, but quickly reconsidered, “No.  No, I can’t.  I need you to listen to me, ok?”

“I’m done fucking listening.  I’m heading back… to town. Today.”

Ian’s arms dropped in defeat as he sucked in a breath. “Mick,” Mickey’s angry glare shot at him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!  _Mickey_ … Just.  Why can’t we talk about this?’

Mickey shook his head and let out a laugh, “You think that was fun for me?  Being humiliated in front of all your buddies and your brother back there?  Having your asshole brother say that shit to me?”

“He is an asshole!  You’re right. And he shouldn’t have …”

“I don’t fucking need this, ok?  I’ve lived my whole fucking life without any of … _this!_   And now, you just show up and expect… What?  What the fuck did you expect, Ian?  huh?  Because this…” he pointed back and forth between them, “This ain’t gonna happen. This was all a fucking mistake, you hear me? We’re not boyfriends here.  We sure as shit ain’t gonna throw out a blanket and stare at the fucking stars like a bunch of faggots.  Besides, apparently, I’m nothin’ but a warm mouth to you anyway, right?”

Mickey shoved Ian to the side and went past him quickly.  Ian stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.  Everything had been so perfect earlier, even after all the revelations and confessions.  His head kept shaking side to side quickly as if he were trying to get the thoughts in his head to fall into place and start making sense.

He looked over his shoulder at Mickey who had put a great deal of distance between them and was already turning a bend in the road. Ian turned back toward the mine and ran up to find Lip.  It took him at least five minutes before locating him.

Ian walked up to him, immediately pushing Lip hard in the shoulder and making him stumble back.

“Hey!  Hey, guys, that’s enough!”  Nathan called out.  While Ian and Lip might be his boss, he was the foreman at this location and it was his job to make sure there were no injuries or mishaps – both of which had already happened just twenty minutes earlier.  “Come on, Ian.  Calm down.”

Ian got within inches of Lip, pushing his finger into Lips chest as he spit out, “Don’t you fucking even talk to me again, do you fucking hear me?  He might not mean shit to you, but he means something to me, and you’re not gonna fuck it up.”

“Yeah, alright, alright.”  Lip said, waving his hands tiredly in defeated.  “But you know I’m not wrong.”

Ian clenched his fist right as Nathan stepped in and grabbed his arm.  “Alright!! That’s it! Don’t make me get Fiona up here, guys.”

Ian glared at his brother angrily, breathing heavily as he jerked his arm from Nathan’s grip. He turned to go find Mickey.

***

Mickey had jogged much of the road going back, trying to clear his head, or at least calm the fuck down enough to just think straight.  His heart was hurting him the entire time he ran, and it wasn’t from exertion.  More than once he had caught himself taking in gulps of air as if he’d forgotten to breath.  He wiped a tear or two from his eye and reasoned that it was just from the cool mountain air and nothing more.

He made it back to the cabin in a fraction of the time it had taken to go the opposite direction to the mine. Inside he went about setting the guns he’d taken earlier that morning onto the dining table, then headed straight for the room to pack his bag and leave.  He heard the cabin door open, Ian’s heavy footsteps running into the room.

“Mickey!  Mick.  Please. Just…” he hesitated.

“Just what?”  Mickey asked as he threw his extra shirt into the bag, then checked around the side of the bed for the boxers he had been wearing the day before.  Ian went over to the bed and began taking Mickey’s clothes back out of the bag.

“Goddamn it, Gallagher!”  Mickey went to pick up the clothes Ian was throwing on the floor behind him. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t want you to leave!”  he stated desperately. 

“Well boo fucking hoo.”

He pushed Ian to the side to get back to his bag, but Ian resisted.  It was like trying to move a goddamn mountain.  Mickey stubbornly pushed him harder, determined to move him, but Ian simply pushed Mickey away making him stumble.

“Are you trying to fight me over this?” Mickey shouted. “Move the fuck out of the way!”

“NO.” 

Ian widened his stance, challenging Mickey to try to move him.  Mickey took two steps forward and shoved Ian back, slamming him hard enough into the wall behind him that it knocked the air out of him for a second.  Ian looked stunned that Mickey had been able to move him so easily.  Mickey might be pint sized but he was a lot stronger than he appeared.

“I just want to talk to you, Mickey!” 

“I’m tired of fucking talking!  Every goddamn conversation we’ve had today is just fucking spiraling out of control!” 

Ian stepped forward again, blocking Mickey from getting to the clothes on the floor.

“I swear to god, Ian, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass if you don’t move.”

“Talk to me, Mick!” 

Ian said, grabbing first for the shirt Mickey was reaching for on the floor and held it high above his head as Mickey tried to grab it.  He moved it from hand to hand as Mickey jumped, using Ian’s shoulder to hold onto for balance. 

“Motherfucker! Give me my goddamn shirt!” Mickey took two steps back then charged him, taking him down at the waist and knocking Ian flat on his back with an “Ooof!”

“Give me my fucking clothes!”  He crawled over Ian, holding his open palm over Ian’s face and shoving his cheek into the floor.

“Why won’t you talk to me?!”  He yelled through his muffled mouth. 

Mickey straddled Ian, continuing to wrestle him to submission as Ian did his best to buck him off.  Mickey’s body bounced in the air each time he bucked, making Mickey that much more determined to pin him down.  The shirt they were struggling with ripped apart between their grasp, making them both stop wrestling briefly as they looked at each other comically.  It would have been funny under any other circumstance, but no!  Mickey wasn’t about to give in and laugh with that asshole.

He jumped up from Ian’s lap, kicking him hard enough in the thigh to leave a bruise.  Ian curled into the pain.

 “Oooow, shit, motherfucker!  Ok… I deserved that.” He groaned.

“Damn right you fucking deserved it.  Asshole.”  Mickey said as he threw the ripped shirt in Ian’s face.  He picked up a few other items of clothing from the floor and went back to stuffing them in his bag.  He zipped up the edges and took a quick glance around the room.  Ian was rolling up off the floor as Mickey left the room and headed for the open front door. 

“Wait!  You just can’t leave, Mickey!  How are you gonna get back?”

“There’s a fucking road, remember?  You said it went back to town.”

An ache shot through Mickey’s heart as he remembered the other thing Ian had told him, _I promise I won’t lose you up here._   It seemed that Ian had been wrong about that.

Ian went out into the yard of the cabin as Mickey took off down the road.  He knew he needed to go after him, but Mickey was dead set on leaving.  He’d be ok to get back to town, but everything in Ian was screaming to go after him and bring him back.  He hadn’t even realized he had stopped breathing until he sucked in a deep, desperate, quivering breath.  He knew he could go after him, but the day had been total shit, and Ian knew he had to let Mickey go.  For now.

He swiped a hand across his eyes wiping away the moisture that was threatening to fall.  There wasn’t time for that.  He had to get back to town as quickly as possible, and there were still things to be done at the cabins.  He headed out toward the canoes stacked near the lake and ran estimated times through his head – it would take him another hour to get all of them stored away for the winter, plus there were fire sites to be cleared.  The last thing to finish would be the main cabin.  Shutters needed to be put up, cupboards needed to be cleared, the fireplace, the plumb line, the roof check…

Ian stopped walking. It was all too much.  He glanced back at the road where Mickey had just disappeared, and his emotion hit him like a load of bricks.  He fell onto his knees and lowered himself in the dirt to sit as everything overwhelmed him at that moment.  There was so much to do. He always fucking had so much to do on this damn mountain, and it always came at a cost. He mindlessly wiped a tear falling down his cheek without fully registering that he was crying. 

There was work to be done.  He had to let Mickey go.


	38. That Look In His Eyes

The road going back to town was much quicker than it would have been to hike back along Ian’s Aspen Trail.  Of course, that could have had more to do with the fact that Mickey had once again run a good portion of it. By the time he got back to town, the cold had finally stopped making his eyes tear up, and his heart wasn’t aching quite as much.  And if it was, well that was more likely due to the physical exercise than anything else.  At least that’s what Mickey was telling himself.

The road ended at the side of town nearest the Outfitter store and Jimmy the Mechanic’s shop.  Perfect.  Mickey would stop in there and pay the guy any amount of money he wanted to get his damn truck fixed NOW.   But when he got there, the shop was closed.  _Of fucking course it’s closed_ , he thought.

He scrubbed his dirty hands down his face and laid his head back in defeat. It was Wednesday. Maybe if he could hunt this Jimmy guy down, then he could work something out for a ride back to Denver.  Fuck the truck!  He’d buy another one.  He turned on his heels and saw Fiona standing in the window of the Outfitter smiling, but looking more concerned than friendly.  She waived him over.  He took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet.  After all, if Fiona was the Boss of this operation, maybe she could get him a ride out of here.

“Mickey!  Hi… wasn’t expecting to see you today.  Where’s Ian?”  She eyed the bag he was carrying and noted the way his eyes darted nervously around the room.  “Everything ok with you two?”

“Yeah, listen, do you know where I can find that mechanic guy?  I really need to get my truck back.”

“Ok, let me see if I can find him.  Why don’t you put your bag down and I’ll go call him?” 

She walked to the back room, glancing over her shoulder to check on him once more before disappearing.  Mickey shuffled from foot to foot, knocking at his lip with his thumb and wishing he was anywhere but right where he was at that moment.  He wasn’t looking forward to Fiona coming out and asking a bunch of questions that he didn’t want to answer, now or maybe ever.  He just wanted to get the hell out of town and have this day over.

Fiona listened to the ring of the other line in the receiver, then glanced out to the showroom when she heard the bell above the door ring.  She looked out just in time to see Mickey rushing away.   Fiona hung up the phone and rushed to the front window.  Mickey was practically jogging away from the store.  She looked around, not sure if she should expect merchandise to have gone missing or not by the way he sprinted off.  Everything seemed to be in order.  As a matter of fact, instead of taking anything, he had left something.  His bag of gear sat on the floor, unzipped, with most of the items Fiona had helped him pick out for his hiking trip, including the winter coat. 

Snow was coming.  She would send Ian to take it back to him the next time she saw him.  She wondered when that might be, but she didn’t have to wait long for an answer.  Just about ten minutes after Mickey had run off, Lip drove up to the curb, scraping the tires as he pulled along the edge of the road.  She could tell by the way he used the door of the truck for balance that he was drunk.  She shook her head in disappointment.  Just what she needed in this town – another Frank Gallagher.

It wasn’t until Lip was entering the store that she realized the state of distress he was in.

“Oh my god, Lip!  What happened to you?” She rushed to his side, putting an arm around his shoulder and getting a better look at his swollen face with a bit of dried blood still on his skin.

“Your fucking brother and his flavor of the day, that’s what happened.”  Lip pushed past her to the storage room hoping to find something to clean himself up, and Fiona quickly followed after.

“What the hell did you do?” She accused without ever thinking it might have been anyone else’s fault other than Lip’s.

“What do you mean, what did _I_ do?  Ever stop to think that maybe I’m the victim here?”

“No.  You’re an asshole who likes to start trouble, especially when it comes to Ian, so you’d better start talking, now!”

Lip wiped a wet rag around his face and through his hair as he looked at her and tried to gather the details of his story.  “Ian took Mickey up to the mine.  To the fucking mine, Fiona!”

She stared at him waiting for more, as if that wasn’t enough to justify anything.

“We don’t even _know_ him! We don’t know anything about him, or who he is. He could be connected to the fucking mob, Fiona…  a gangster!  Do you have any idea what they would do if they found out where we operated from?  They wouldn’t just shut us down – they would send people here to fucking destroy this entire town.”

“What the fuck difference has that ever made?  We didn’t know Jordan – didn’t know he broke from that chain gang out in Glenwood, but we still gave him a fucking chance when he needed food and a warm bed!  We didn’t know Sheila when she rolled into town, lost and alone, and probably with blood on her hands, but she’s takes care of half this town, including _you_ every goddamn time you get the flu, and this is her home now too!”  She spun around, hand on her forehead as she tried to think.  “Half this fucking town is made of criminals and outcasts, but we gave them a fucking home and we trusted them!  And NOW you decide you want to be suspicious… when this means so much to Ian?   Are you just trying to find ways to sabotage him?” 

She waited for him to answer, but he was silent.

“What did you say to him?  Exactly, Lip? Don’t you fucking lie to me either.”

Lip told her what he remembered.  He was more sober now than he had been three hours earlier.  Earier he was so drunk he barely even felt the punches Ian had landed on him, much less the details of what had triggered it all.  Fiona stood there, shaking her head, trying to think of who needed to be fixed first… Mickey or Ian.

“Fiona, you know as well as I do that I wasn’t wrong.  I mean, fuck - it’s not like Mickey’s gonna stick around.”

She turned on him like a snake and hissed, “You said it yourself, Lip!  When was the last fucking time you ever saw your brother stay up all night long talking about anyone the way he talks about Mickey?”

Lip didn’t answer.

“Tell me, Lip?  Tell me one goddamn time that kid has ever once looked at someone the way he looks at Mickey?  You wanna know why the others ‘don’t stick?’  Because he’s fucking isolated up here 12 months out of the year, taking care of shit for me and for you, and for half the town, working his ass off to the point that he doesn’t even have time for his own goddamn life!  The only chance he ever has to meet anyone is if he’s down in Denver, working!  Even then he gets to see them, what, once a month, if that? How the fuck would that make you feel, Lip?”

Lip’s head dipped low as he began to understand what an asshole he’d really been.

“So the one fucking time he starts to _FEEL_ something real for someone… someone who looks at him the same way, and laughs with him, and spends his fucking days working his ass off for free just so he can be around Ian, YOU come in and try to ruin it for them?  I don’t give a fuck if Ian took him to the top of the mountain and showed him the fucking stills.  All I care about right now is that this… _mess_ , that YOU made, gets fixed.”

She grabbed her coat, zipping up and wrapping a scarf around her neck. “Where’s Ian?” She asked.

“Fuck, I don’t.  They’re probably at the cabin.”  His voice was quiet, humble, as he soaked in what she had said.

“No. Mickey was just here, alone.  He was upset and looking to get his truck back, and Ian wasn’t with him.”  She looked at the front of the store where she could see Jimmy was back at the garage.  “Give me your keys.”

“How am I supposed to get home?” he protested.

“I don’t fucking care!”  She held her hand out. “Keys! Now.”

She ran across the street to the garage, “Jimmy, hey.  I need a favor.”  Fiona didn’t waste time with the details, but told him that under no circumstance was he to give Mickey his truck back until she said it was ok, even if it was another month.

“Tell him… I don’t care, just tell him whatever you want.  Make something up.  Just do not let him leave, understand?  Make sure no one gives him a ride either.  I gotta go fix this shit.”


	39. Sorry I'm Late

“Oh, Mickey, honey!  You’re back.  Oh, my goodness, I didn’t make a dinner.  I thought you were… Mickey…Mickey?”  Mickey walked passed Sheila and straight to his room without so much as a ‘hello,’ slamming the door shut behind him.

“Mickey, is everything ok?”  She called through the door.

He unlocked the safe in the closet and pulled the few items that were stored there out as Sheila entered the room uninvited. 

“How much do I owe you… for the room?”  He shuffled through the bills in the satchel without taking them out, waiting for an answer.

“Uhm, well… it’s uh… are you leaving?  Why are you leaving?  Where’s Ian?” She hesitated.

Why the fuck was everyone in this town so goddamn dead set on asking him where the fuck Ian was!?  He wasn’t his damn keeper!  Mickey pulled two twenty-dollar bills from the satchel, folding them over his thumb and handing them to Sheila. 

“Here.  If that’s not enough, let me know.”  She didn’t reach for it, her hands wringing nervously into the fabric of her apron. It was twice what he probably owed, but she didn’t want the money either way.

Mickey tossed the money onto the bed and began shoving everything he owned in the room into the small suitcase he had come to town with.

“Is there a train or bus or anything that comes through here?  I need a ride back to Denver.”

“No.” She said quietly, watching as he packed, her heart reaching out to both him and Ian for whatever unknown thing had come between them.  “We don’t really have anything like that here. Perhaps someone in town can give you a ride.”

He pushed down on the clothes in the bag to make them fit, and absent mindedly wiped the heel of his palm at his eyes.

“Can I at least pack you a sandwich for the trip?”

He looked up at her, tears in her eyes as she stood there helplessly.  He stopped moving and took a deep breath.  _Just breath a minute,_ he told himself.   _Just fucking breath_.  It was already getting dark out and he hadn’t eaten all day, so as much as he wanted to tell her no, his growling stomach was saying something else. 

“Yeah.”  He nodded.  He reached out to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. Sheila had been nothing but kind to him, and he knew she didn’t deserve the anger he was feeling toward Ian.  “That would be nice, thanks.”

***

Fiona drove up to the cabin as fast as she safely could on the winding mountain roads.  When she arrived, Ian was sitting on the front porch of the cabin, three sheets to the wind, staring out at the lake with a bottle of booze in his hand.

“Want a glass for that?”  She said lightly as she stepped out of the truck.

He didn’t bother to look at her, and just shook his head slowly as he held out the bottle to her.  His eyes were glassy and his lips quivering as she sat down in a chair behind him.  She took a long drink from the bottle, biting her teeth against the sting in the back of her throat, then took another.

He was running his index finger along the creases in his palm over and over.

“Did ya hurt your hand? Here, let me see.” 

She took his hand in hers.  There were no new cuts showing.  Just the hard, red callouses from the work he had done that afternoon. He pulled his hand from her gently and went back to tracing the lines Mickey had traced his own fingers along just the night before.

“Lip told me what happened.”  She said quietly.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, just passed the bottle back and forth.  She watched Ian as he bit his jaws down tight, holding back tears that were threatening to fall, and wiping away the ones that got away. 

“You wanna talk about it?” she finally asked.

“Not really.”

“Ok.” She reached for his hand again, lacing her fingers through his.  “Need some help up here or are you all done?”

“All done.” 

He wiped a tear from his cheek and took another long drink from the bottle, then offered it to Fiona.

“No, I think I’ve had enough.  Gotta drive down that mountain still.  You ready to go?”

He looked at her for the first time, his eyes filled with a sorrow she’d never seen in them before.

“Oh baby.  Come here.”  She moved over to his chair, squeezing herself onto his lap and hugging him close as he finally let go, sobbing into her shoulder.  “It’s ok.  I promise, it’s gonna be ok.” 

“He’s gonna leave, Fi.” 

“No, baby.  No, he’s not.  I saw him.  He looked upset, but he’s not leaving.” 

The tears in her eyes streaked down her face. Fiona had a hard rule that none of her siblings were allowed to cry without her joining along.  Pain is only half as bad when you share it with someone, she always said.

Ian looked up at her, red eyes and snotty nose, reminding her of when he was just a little boy who skinned his knees or fell out of tree.  She smiled sweetly at him. 

“Come on.  We need to get you back to town.  Let’s fix this.”

“I can’t fix this, Fi.  He… he thinks…”

“You have no idea what that boy thinks.  That’s the fucking problem with relationships.  You start to go blind to the things you should pay attention to.  He’s just… he’s just as scared of this as you are, Ian.  Come on, let’s get this place locked up.”

***

Fiona waited as Ian walked to the front door of the Jackson house, hoping like hell that Jimmy had managed to deter Mickey in some way from leaving town.  She hadn’t had many other words for Ian as they came down the mountain. They just sat in the quiet of the truck, letting the silence of the mountain heal him.  Somehow it always found a way to do that.  By the time they reached Sheila’s house he was still shaken, and definitely still drunk, but much more pulled together than he had been when they left the cabin.

He knocked lightly on the door, hoping the lights inside were an indication that someone was still awake.  It was well after 10 at night, and he was worried more about waking Sheila than anything.  Maybe he should have gone around to Mickey’s patio door instead, but it was too late to change his mind.  The door opened almost immediately to Sheila’s worried face.

“Ian, what’s going on, dear?  Are you ok? Mickey -”

“Where is he?  Where’s Mickey?” He asked, leaning into the door hoping to see Mickey sitting in the living room.

“He’s not here.  He’s gone.”  She said, watching all hope fall from his face. “Come in, come in. You’re gonna catch your death out there.”

Ian walked into the house, once more feeling the hopeless lethargy taking over. “Wh-where is he?”

Sheila motioned for Ian to take a seat on the couch, and sat next to him, taking his hand in hers. 

“I don’t know exactly.  He paid me for his room, then asked if he could leave his things here while he went to find a ride back to Denver.”

Ian perked up at that, “He left his things?”

“Yes, it’s all still in his room, packed up, but I haven’t seen him for a few hours.”

Ian jumped from the couch and went to Mickey’s room.  He stood in the door and saw the suitcase on the bed along with the money Mickey had tossed there earlier.  He felt Sheila’s hand gently wrap around his elbow.

“Ian, come sit down.  I’ll make us some hot cocoa.  We can wait for him together, ok?”

***

His first mistake was walking into this fucking town.  Mickey was sure of that.   His second mistake was leaving that warm winter coat back at the Outfitter shop.  He had on his own wool coat that he’d left Chicago in, but it did little to guard against the deep Colorado cold that was settling into his bones.  His third mistake, and the mother of them all, was Ian Fucking Gallagher.

Mickey had been walking for nearly an hour, maybe more.  Originally, he’d only planned on going into town to see if any of the shop proprietors would be heading into Denver in the next day or two.  They all had the same odd look on his face when he’d walked into their shops though – shifty eyes and a nervous smile, quickly followed by “Sorry, I won’t be going,” “My cars on the fritz” “You might wanna ask Jimmy if he’s headed that way…” Basically all No’s.  And finding Jimmy anywhere in town was like a needle in a haystack – again he was faced with the same answers all around, “isn’t he at the garage” “maybe he’s at the Outfitters” “I’m sure he’s around someplace” “Just saw him ten minutes ago.”  It was like the whole fucking town was in cahoots to keep him hostage there.

From town he found himself walking mindlessly along the road that took him back to the open field where Sunday Worship had been held.   He sat at the edge of the river on one of the big boulders he and Ian had used to cross over that day they went for an impromptu hike.  From here he noticed a few areas where the dirt looked like it had been disturbed, the overgrowth of wild grass and flowers not yet reestablished.  Trees.  That must be the place Ian dug up his aspens each spring to replant them along the aspen trail.  _Fuck the aspen trail, and fuck Ian,_ he thought.

If it had been the middle of July, Mickey would have stayed out and slept under the stars, but as it was the end of October, the cold would leave him frozen before morning if he didn’t get moving back to the Jackson house.  He was much calmer now than he had been hours earlier when he packed up his room and was already beginning to regret that decision.  Hopefully he didn’t find his bags sitting on Sheila’s front porch when he got back.  It wasn’t likely.  Sheila seemed more distraught at his leaving than he had been himself.  Or at least the exact same amount as he had been.

***

Wrapped in warm quilts with hot chocolate tucked into their hands, Ian and Sheila sat on the front porch of her house waiting for Mickey.  It was after midnight and they were both getting worried about him being out in the dark of the mountain alone. 

“Maybe I should go find him.”  Ian kept suggesting.

“He might come back when you’re gone.”  Sheila said.

She filled the time telling him about another letter she’d received from her daughter Karen who had decided on a whim to marry someone she’d met just two months earlier. 

“I guess I can’t really say much about that.  Her father and I were married more than twenty years, and we only knew each other two weeks before we ran off and got married.  My father nearly killed him!”  She laughed.  Ian smiled, finally allowing a little glow to creep into his eyes where the sadness had been all night.

“Do you think it’s possible to love someone that soon?” he asked.

She pulled her quilt around her shoulders and nodded her head slowly.

“Yes.  Yes, I do.  Not for most people though.  For most it takes months, even years.  They have to get to know the person and learn how to fit them into their life, how to tolerate the little things they don’t like and would rather change about them. Then, eventually they grow together if they’re lucky. But some people…”

Ian looked at her and waited as she found the right words. 

“Some people are like two pieces of the same soul, you know.  Like if God separated them before they came to this earth, so they wander around growing into themselves until their other half comes along. But the minute they find each other, they fit.  They’re home.” 

“Is that how it was with you and your husband?” 

“Oh no, not at all.  We got married and within about three months we knew it had been a rash decision, and a bad one at that.  We fought.  A lot. But what could we do, right?  So, we stuck it out.  We drove each other crazy for years, but eventually we began to understand each other, and then we finally grew together.  I loved him.  I don’t know if I was ever in love with him though.”

They sat quietly for a while, Sheila yawning as she struggled to stay awake with Ian.  She wanted to invite him in to sleep at the house, but she could tell he wasn’t going anywhere until he knew Mickey was safe.

Clouds had moved over the night sky, blocking out the last of the moonlight.  Aside from the glow coming from the lights inside of Sheila’s house there was hardly a sign of life on the dark street corner where they sat.  Neither Ian nor Sheila noticed Mickey leaning against one of the large trees just to the side of the yard, listening to their conversation. He’d arrived almost an hour earlier, but stopped himself from going in when he saw them sitting there. 

“I can’t get him out of my head.”  Ian said, almost too quietly for Mickey to hear… but he did.  Ian pinched at his eyes, pressing away the tears threatening to form again. 

“I don’t know if that’s normal or not, but I’ve never felt like this before…” his breath stuttered as he swallowed hard to contain his emotions. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you told him that?”

Ian looked at her like she had lost her mind.

“No!  Of course not.  I mean…  I don’t… I’m pretty sure he doesn’t feel … you know, the same. But… I thought that maybe…”

He took in a heavy breath and held it, the realization of falling in love gripping him, and making him panic at the idea that Mickey might be gone.  He exhaled slowly, wiping his hands across his eyes.

“I think I might be in love with him.”

Sheila saw the movement by the tree on Ian’s side of the yard as Mickey took a step in their direction, trying to hear more of what Ian was saying.  He wanted to go to him.  She stood from her chair, pulling her quilt along with her and patting Ian on the arm. 

“Maybe you should - tell him.  You might be surprised.  I’m going to go to bed.  You can stay if you want to.  Just lock up when you come inside.” 

Ian nodded without looking up or speaking.  She took his empty cup and headed for the door, closing it tightly behind her. 

Alone on the porch, Ian took a deep breath in, his lips quivering again – it’s just the cold air, he told himself.   He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands, allowing the tears in his eyes to fall at last now that Sheila was gone.  His body quaked silently as the anguish washed over him once more.  He sat like that a few minutes longer until the worst of it passed.

“Hey.”  Mickey said whisper quiet.

Ian hadn’t heard Mickey coming up the stairs.  He sat up quickly knocking the quilt from his shoulders as Mickey came to stand in front of him, their glossy eyes meeting in the dim light from the window. Ian could see the emotions Mickey was carrying were enough to rival his own.

“Sorry I’m late.”


	40. Let's See What You're Packin', Gallagher

Ian stood, letting the quilt fall completely to the ground. 

“I … I thought you left.”

They stood there quietly, taking each other in.  Mickey stepped forward and pulled Ian into him, holding him close, his fingers fisted into Ian’s hair as he tucked his head into the warmth of his neck where he pressed his lips into his skin.  Ian’s arms wrapped around Mickey and they held each other as if for dear life.  Neither of them let go, breathing the other in and letting the silence of the mountain heal them.

Ian took a deep breath in and shivered violently as he let it go again, and laughed a little as relief washed over him. Mickey pulled away, cupping Ian’s face in his hands.

“You ok?”  Micky asked quietly.

Ian swallowed hard, dropping his head from Mickey’s eyes, giving a small nod. He was ok.  Mickey was here now.  Ian was ok.

“Hey.  Look at me.  Come on, Ian… look at me.” 

He tipped Ian’s chin up so that their eyes met. They didn’t speak as Mickey pressed his thumb gently along Ian’s eyelash, wiping away a tear. He stepped up on his toes to kiss the corner of Ian’s eye.  Standing in the cold of the night, cheek to cheek for a few seconds longer as he held Ian in his arms, Mickey knew he couldn’t leave him.  Even if he had tried, he would have had to turn around to come back to him – Ian was like coming home.

“Come on.  Let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

***

Ian wandered into the Gallagher house two days later on Friday morning, practically skipping with pleasure as he entered the kitchen.

“Hi!  Where’s Mickey?”  Fiona asked, looking behind him. 

He smiled almost secretly as he reached for a cup to pour some coffee in. “Sleeping.  I wore him out.”  He laughed.

“Ew!  Ian, no!  I don’t want the details.”

“What? You asked.” 

He took a seat that the kitchen table, watching Fiona scoop raw potatoes she had been cutting into a frying pan.

“So, is everything ok?  Did you guys make up?”  She dared a quick peek at him before answering her own question, “Never mind.  Obviously, you made up.  I knew that.  Guess, I just meant… Are you ok?”

“Yeah.  I’m good.  No, I’m great.”

The potatoes sizzled in the pan as she put a lid over them to cook, then took a seat at the table.  She wanted to support him. She wanted to be his cheerleader, just like she had been two nights ago, but her nature drove her to be the Devil’s advocate as well, to try to protect him. 

“You sure this whole thing is… you know… is it right?  I mean, once his truck is up and running, he might wanna leave again, you know.  Do you really even know anything about him?”

Ian rolled his head, “Why is it every time something good happens, you have to start asking me when it’s gonna fall apart?  I’m not you, Fiona.  This isn’t Jimmy!”

She looked at him, stunned at the unexpected attack.

“I didn’t say it was Jimmy – that’s not what I was trying to say, Ian.  It’s just…”

“Just nothing.  If you’d stop fucking running away from every real emotion you’ve ever had in your life, you’d be fucking married, with a bunch of little Jimmy Lishmans running around the house.  But you shut everyone out of your life the minute it gets real.  I’m not you, Fiona.  This … this thing with Mickey… it feels real.  It feels right.  And I don’t want you to ruin it by planting some kind of fucking doubt in my head about it, ok?”

She nodded her head quickly, knowing her worries and advice were not welcome right then. 

“Yeah, ok.  Ok, I hear you.”

“Do you?”  He looked at her, compassion coming back into his eyes where a minute earlier anger had been.  “Do you, Fiona?  Because Jimmy won’t wait forever for you to figure this shit out.”  He laughed a little at his own words, “Ok, he’ll probably fucking wait forever.  It’s been what, nine years already so I guess what’s another thirty or forty, right?”

She smiled at him.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t trying to plant doubt in you, Ian.  I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Sometimes you get hurt.  But… if you’re not willing to risk it all for someone you love, then what the fuck is the purpose?”

Her eyes darted up to his.

“You _love_ him?”

He didn’t answer right away, but a whisper of a smile curled his lips.  “I, uh… maybe.  Yeah.  I think I might.”

***

Mickey was waiting on the porch when Ian returned in his truck. 

“Morning.  Why didn’t you wake me up when you were leaving, I would have come with?” He asked as he climbed into the passenger seat, setting down a large lunch sack Sheila had packed for them. 

“Because you shoved a pillow over my face yesterday morning and tried to kill me with it when I woke you up.  I value my life, Mick.”

Mickey laughed, “Oh yeah.  Well, you should learn to shut the fuck up in the morning, Freckles.  If the birds ain’t singing, your trap shouldn’t be either.” 

He leaned over to put a kiss on Ian’s lips before they drove off.

“So, where we goin’?”

“Fiona said you wanted to go back to Denver.” Ian peeked out the corner of his eye and saw Mickey turn his head in a bit of a panic as he looked back.  “If you need a ride, I can take you.”

“Fuck you.” He said without heat.  “You know I don’t fuckin’ wanna go.  So, tell me where we’re really going.”

Ian smiled as he turned the corner up the dirt road that led back to the cabins and the mines. 

“We never went shooting the other day. Thought I’d find out if the Feds trained you right or not.  Maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“You fuckin’ wish, Gallagher.  I’ll out shoot you any day of the week, with one hand tied behind my back.” He laughed.

“Oh, is that right?  Who are you, Doc Holliday now?”

“Doc Holliday only wished he could shoot like me.”  Mickey said, reaching his hand across the seat to squeeze Ian’s thigh playfully.

“We’ll see.  Hey, listen.  The Speakeasy opens up tonight.  I have to work, but I thought maybe, if you wanna come and check it out…”

“You think that’s ok?  Lip and Fiona won’t lose their shit if they find’s out I’m a g-man will they?”

Ian realized he had left that part out of his conversation with Fiona earlier. 

“I should probably mention that at some point, huh?”

“Might be a good idea.  She’s gonna be pissed though – probably kick your ass then mine.”

“No, she’ll be ok.”  Ian said, unsure if that was true or not.

“She already asked me if I was a cop when I first got into town.  I told her no.  Now she’s just gonna think I was lying.” Mickey said.

“What?  When did she ask you that?”

“Before I met you.  I stayed at the house that first night, woke up to the Spanish Inquisition the next morning.  Like fifty people sitting in the kitchen asking me who I was and where I was from.  Lip jumped straight to gangster.” He scoffed.

“Of course, he did.”  Ian said, rolling his eyes at his brother’s pessimism.  “You know, he can be ok sometime.”

“Yeah, well I’m not gonna hold my breath waiting for that to happen.  Anyway, they asked me if I was a cop, and I could see that maybe saying yes might have been the wrong answer, so I said no.  Which technically isn’t a lie.”

“It’s not like anyone here hates cops.”  Ian said, hoping to ease Mickey’s concern a bit.  “It’s just…”

“Just that you’re fucking bootleggers, running a town on thousands of gallons of booze and probably tax evasion, with who know who living in these hills?”  

Mickey laughed at his own words earning a huff of ironic laughter from Ian.

“Well, when you put it that way, Mick, even I start to worry about you being a cop.”

“’M not a cop.  You don’t have anything to worry about it.”  He reached for Ian’s hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing the back of his fingers. “Ok?  Don’t worry about it.”

“K, Mick.”

Ian drove deep into the hills, taking them off the main road and into the woods. He’d brought an arsenal of weapons tucked behind the seat of the truck, making Mickey’s face light up like a kid at Christmas as they unloaded the guns and ammo.  There were wooden bullseye targets, painted red, nailed the trees at different distances.  Each of them  had dozens of holes blown into each of them, some missing entire corners where they’d been blown off.

Ian tossed an orange hunting vest to Mickey then began loading guns and setting them in a row on the ground. 

“So, d’you bartend or something?  At the, uh, Speakeasy?”

Ian laughed.  “Bartend?  No.  Kev does that.  Fiona sings – we have a few people in town who play music, jazz, and some rag mostly.  They’re really good.  You played with some of them back that the house.”

Mickey nodded, “I could see that – about your sister.  She’s got a fuckin’ set of lungs on her.”

“Yeah, studied music in school along with business.  If she wasn’t up here keeping us all alive, she’d probably be some big star in Hollywood by now.”  Ian said a bit regretfully.

“So what does Lip do?”

“Handles … kinda everything else.  The door, the booze, the people who get in or don’t.  Mostly walks around with a stick up his ass all night, but there’s usually a pretty good crowd, so it’s easy enough to ignore him.  Or just start giving him shots and he’ll loosen up.”

“Yeah, like he was up at the mine?”

“Yeah, well, I probably should have told them I was taking you there.  He was right.” Ian admitted.

“Either way…” 

Mickey wanted to say more but things had been good with them since the night they’d come back from the cabins. They had spent the entire day together on Thursday, mostly in bed, taking breaks to sit on the patio and eat whatever food Sheila had left for them on a tray outside Mickey’s bedroom door.  She hadn’t asked any questions – just simply left them alone. When they weren’t in bed or sitting on Mickey’s patio, Ian would drag Mickey to the piano to play.  He’d sit behind him on the small bench, laying over Mickey like a blanket, kissing at his neck and arm while he played, which usually led to them being back in bed.  Sheila hadn’t returned until late into the night, after visiting a friend in town.  They had the house entirely to themselves for the day, leaving both of them wondering what life could be like if they could have this kind of freedom every day.

“So, how much of what he said the other day should I believe?”  Mickey finally asked.

He needed to talk about this. He didn’t want to, but It was eating away at him for two days now, and he just needed to know if he was, as Lip had put it, the Flavor of the Season.

Ian stopped what he was doing and looked at Mickey.  He thought of a few ways to answer and decided that the right way was to just say the truth.

“I guess he wasn’t really lying about anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

He went back to loading guns.

“So, then… this… thing we got going on.  Are we just having some fun while I’m here then?”

Mickey hated the way his stomach dropped and his heart raced as he waited for Ian to answer.  He hated the way Ian was looking at him like he was being some needy dame.  He hated wanting something so desperately only to find out that it might not be his to have.  He wanted Ian.

Ian studied him a few seconds longer, confused by Mickey’s question.  Ian didn’t know exactly what was going on between the two of them.  The last 24 hours had been filled with bliss and sex and laughter, and Ian was all for another 90 years of the same thing - but did any of it actually mean anything to Mickey?  After all, it had been Mickey who said none of this meant anything – that it had been a mistake.  And while Ian was 99% sure he hadn’t meant it, that 1% sat there screaming in the back of his head that he should believe what Mickey had told him.  He hoped like hell he was wrong, but this wasn’t his shot to call.

“What?” Ian finally asked incredibly.  Could Mickey seriously still think that he wasn’t ready to jump into the deep end with him?

“You and me.  We just screwin’ around?”  Mickey said, thumbing at his lip nervously. Fuck!  He hated feeling so fucking vulnerable.

Ian stepped closer to him, watching as Mickey looked around at the targets anxiously.

“I don’t know.”  Ian said, almost as a question.  “I mean, at the cabin… you said… well, I thought you said that this was a mistake… Mick… you said we aren’t…”

“Yeah, yeah, ok… I know what I fucking said, all right?”  He chanced a glance at Ian quickly then looked away again.  “I didn’t mean it.  I was just… I was pissed, you know?” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Sooo…? ” Ian asked keeping his eyes on Mickey’s lips.

“So...”  Mickey repeated, unsure what he should say next, so he said nothing and waited for Ian to answer the question.

Ian could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be settled until he gave Mickey some solid answers.

“Ok… No, you are not a flavor of whatever the fuck Lip said.  But he wasn’t wrong about no one else sticking around for very long.  I don’t exactly live in a place where someone is likely to stick around, you know?”  Ian explained, hoping Mickey understood.  “The guys I’ve hooked up with are from out of town, and they’re just, uhm, temporary, I guess. Convenient.”

“Ok.  So, what makes you think that maybe this… us… what makes you think that we’re different?  I mean, I’m from out of town.” 

Ian reached for Mickey, pulling him into a hot, searing kiss.  Mickey surrendered quickly, letting his insecurities fall away as Ian kissed him. He fell deep into Ian’s touch and got lost in the taste of him.  Ian broke the kiss first, taking deep breaths as Mickey’s own brushed his lips with each exhale.  They held each other, foreheads resting against the other, and nose to nose.

“Mickey. We’re… you are _definitely_ different. But, I don’t get to decide any of that.  I mean, at some point, you’ll have to decide if you’re staying or leaving.  You have a… a real fucking _job_ that you probably have to get back to.  An entire life. I want -”  

Ian didn’t know what he wanted exactly. He wanted Mickey to forget whatever life was waiting for him outside of Gallway and say he would stay.  He wanted to give Mickey the space he needed to figure out if he was all in or not, but Ian could also see Mickey needed reassurance too, just like he did himself. He knew that Mickey still wasn’t sure about Ian.  Mickey needed to know Ian was in.  All in.

Ian pulled back enough to hold Mickey’s face inside of his hands, looking deep into his eyes. He took in the way Mickey’s deep blue eyes dipped at each end and the little laugh lines that always seemed visible even when he wasn’t laughing.  Ian’s heart filled with love for him – yes, definitely love, like he had never felt before, and at that moment it was more than Ian could do to keep that inside anymore.

“I’m fucking falling in love with you, Mick. I don’t want you to leave. Ever. But it’s not up to me...”

Mickey pulled Ian’s lips to his, kissing him slow. He pressed himself into Ian, needing to feel him, letting those words he’d never expected to hear in his lifetime sink in.  His heart raced and he had no choice but to chuckle when he realized it once again, knowing that Ian was the only man it had ever beat so loudly for.

“So… does that make us a couple or somethin’?” Mickey asked as their lips parted, his thumb running along the bottom of Ian’s lip, pulling it down with his thumb a little before letting it go.

“Course it does.” Ian said, giving him a warm smile.

“Good.” He pecked Ian’s lips again, then pushed him away. That was all he wanted to hear. 

The soft emotions quickly faded from Mickey’s face as he looked at Ian teasingly. 

“Now let’s see what the fuck you’re packin there, Gallagher.” Mickey said as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and nodded toward the guns laying on the ground.

“I’m packing a healthy dose of humiliation and schoolin’, Mick.  Get ready to take your medicine and learn a thing or two.”

“Fuck you.” Mickey laughed. “Give me one of those guns.  Let me show you how this’s done.”

As it turned out, Ian and Mickey were both equal contenders when it came to shooting.  They spent the afternoon burning through the ammunition Ian had brought and being lazy out in the warm fall sun.  They laughed and poked fun at one another, sharing stories about learning to shoot, and they may have lost a few items of clothing once or twice when the moments got heated between them.  Mickey couldn’t remember a single day in his life he’d ever felt so happy - or so free.  He found himself sneaking glances at Ian every chance he got, and was lit up like a bonfire every time he caught Ian looking back at him. 

Mickey had heard Ian tell Sheila he was falling in love, and now Ian had said those words to him.  Each time that thought went through his head, it warmed him to the core and put a smile on his mouth.  Ian was in love, with him.  Mickey had never even come close to knowing what that felt like before, but right now he was pretty sure he felt exactly the same way about Ian. 

Ian hadn’t expected him to say it back.  He didn’t push Mickey for anything at all.  He had simply given him that small piece of his heart without expectation.  That was enough for now. There would be time for everything else later.  They had all the time in the world.


	41. The Ladies Like It Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note, the smut in this chapter was inspired entirely by an EG conversation on "What happens after Ian walks in on Mickey with his dick in his hand." There were dozens of scenarios submitted - the scene I used came from the prompts AJ sent. ;) Thanks AJ, ya filthy animal! <3

Ian turned down the main road leading to Sheila’s place when Mickey realized he still didn’t know what Ian’s job was.

“So, you never told me what you do at the Speakeasy?  You playing security or something?”

It wasn’t out of the question.  At 26 years old, Ian was well endowed in more than one way.  He stood 6 feet tall and weighed in at nearly 200 pounds of solid muscle.  He had broad shoulders and swollen muscles from the physical work he did every day.  In comparison, at 5’7” and a half buck lighter than Ian, Mickey look rather small when he was standing next to him.   Mickey would have argued that he wasn’t small at all, and he was actually perfect exactly the way he was – Ian wouldn’t have argued with him at all, and after the row they had at the cabin Ian knew Mickey could hold his own and then some.   

“No, not security.  I, uh…”  he laughed, suddenly and unusually embarrassed to admit what his job was there. “I’m a dancer.”

Mickey tilted his head and raised his eyebrows with curiosity. “A dancer!?  Please, explain this to me.  Should I be worried about this?”

Ian smiled at him, a blush reaching his cheeks.  “No, you shouldn’t.  There are a lot of people who come each weekend, and since we don’t actually sell the liquor, we basically sell everything else to make money.  That way if the cops show up, they can’t bust us for selling booze.”

“You ‘sell’ everything else… does that include you?  I know you said I shouldn’t be worried, but…”

Ian laughed, “No, I’m not for sale. I have a dance card and ladies pay to dance with me.”

“No fucking kidding?  Aren’t you the fucking Casanova of the Rockies?”  He smiled at his boyfriend knowingly.  “What about the men?”

Ian snickered, “No.  I don’t dance with them.  We have girls for that.  Some of the girls live here, but most of them come up from Boulder for the weekends. They stay in the cabins or at the main house and usually head home on Sunday.”

Bootlegging, tax evasion… were the Gallagher’s running a brothel as well?  Maybe he didn’t want to know, so he skipped that question. Another question came to mind, “So who are these women that are out here dancing with you out here in the middle of nowhere?” 

“Businessmen’s wives, mostly.  They come with their husbands and don’t want to sit around all night bored while the men sit around a table talking and drinking, so that’s where I come in.”

“Huh.  I see.   Any of those women ever try to… uh… you know… get more than a dance with you?”  Mickey asked.

“Pretty much all of them,” Ian stated matter-of-factly, as he pulled the car to the curb in front of Sheila’s, “but that would be illegal, and I’m a law-abiding citizen, Mick.  You should know that.”

Ian jumped out of the truck and jogged around to Mickey’s side as he got out.

“You better not fucking think you’re gonna start opening doors for me.”  Mickey warned as he slammed the truck door closed.

“No. I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said smiling, because it was exactly what he had intended on doing before Mickey had opened his own door. He really was falling in head over heels for his grumpy boyfriend, and grumpy was one of Ian’s favorite thing about him.

“Pick you up in an hour, ok?”  Ian pulled Mickey easily up onto his tiptoes by the lapel of his jacket, kissing him hard, then laughing as Mickey stumbled to catch his balance when Ian let him go.

“Stop fucking laughing at me!”

“Can’t help it, Mick.  You’re so damn cute.”

“I ain’t cute.  Stop calling me cute. Puppies are fucking cute, not me.” He grumbled.

Ian ran back around the truck and jumped back in.  He leaned his head out the passenger window.

“You’re fucking grumpy, and tiny, and cute, Mick.  Ask Sheila to feed you so you’re nicer when I come back. See you in an hour.”

He drove away quickly, the dirt kicking up behind the truck, cutting Mickey off from any possible retort.  Ian busted up laughing when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw Mickey flipping him off with both hands high in the air.  His boyfriend was cute, no two ways about it.

Sheila was hustling around the house dusting and fluffing pillows on the couch when he walked in.

“Oh, good, you’re here!  Listen, I made you dinner but it’s sitting on the stove staying warm.  Where’s Ian?”

This time, the question of where Ian was didn’t trigger Mickey’s anger the way it had two days earlier.

“He went to get ready for work.” 

“All right.  In that case I’ll just put whatever you don’t eat in the icebox.  Are you going with him tonight?”

“Yeah, he’ll be back in about an hour.”

She rushed over to him and brushed dirt from his shirt. 

“Well, this isn’t gonna do.”  She ran through a mental inventory of the clothes Mickey had brought with them.  While they were all freshly washed and pressed, one of the perks of staying at the Jackson House, they were not Speakeasy appropriate attire.

“It’s just a bar.”  Mickey said, “I’ll just get changed into something clean.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Mickey.  It’s not _just_ a bar. Fiona’s clientele is, you know, _big_. You need a suit and tie.  Let me see what we have. You run and take a hot bath.  We need to get you dressed.”

He didn’t know what the fuck “big” meant and didn’t get a chance to ask before he was pushed down the hallway toward his room.

45 minutes later, Fiona had sent Carl over with a suit about Mickey’s size – thank god not all the Gallagher boys were giants. 

Sheila tapped on his bedroom door, “Mickey, when you’re ready in there, I left some clothes here for you, for tonight.  I’ll just leave them right here on the door.  You’d better hurry up, dear.  Ian will be here soon.  He doesn’t like to be late.”

‘I’m fucking coming,” Mickey sighed out quietly so she couldn’t hear. 

And he would be, too – any minute now if she would just stop talking to him through the door and killing his mojo.  He had been so relaxed after his hot lavender scented bath that he had decided to take a minute to jerk off while he waited for Sheila and her magic elves to sew him up a new pair of pants and a jacket. 

He was sprawled out naked on the bed, with a hand full of Aloe on his dick – he needed to remember to thank Ian for showing him that little gem.  His breathing was becoming eradic and heavy as he chased his orgasm, but he was pulled back immediately when he heard Sheila’s muffled voice from the front of the house.

“Oh, hi!  Come in, come in.  You look so nice!  Mickey should be ready soon.  Why don’t I go check on him?”

“It’s ok.  I’ll go.”  Mickey heard Ian’s voice and smiled, holding his hand still on his dick while he waited for Ian to enter.

Sheila didn’t protest like she had the first time Ian had run down the hall to Mickey’s room without an invitation.  It was pretty hard to stand that ground after Ian and Mickey had spent the previous 24 hours tucked under blankets and doing god only knew what.  Actually, God and Sheila both knew what the two men had been up to in there, but that was entirely beside the point and none of her business.

There was a quick tap on the door before Ian opened it just enough to slip in holding the dark blue suit that had been hanging outside the door.  He spotted Mickey sprawled out naked across the bed with his legs spread open, his hand pulling steadily at his hard dick, and a wicked smile pasted on his face. Ian’s own dick quickly responded, filling the already tight crotch of the pants he was wearing.

If thoughts of Ian weren’t already driving Mickey crazy, the sight of Ian with a freshly groomed beard, all dressed to the nines in a burgundy fitted suit was just about to drive him right over the edge.  Coal covering Ian’s body, dirt layered on his skin, work boots and hiking packs – Ian pretty much looked perfect in all of that – but this fucking suit was something else!

“Took you fucking long enough to get here.”  Mickey licked his lips, waiting for Ian to make a move.

Ian’s eyes were on Mickey’s dick in his hand, watching as Mickey slowly pumped himself.  He hung the blue suit across the back of a chair, then turned to lock the bedroom door, moving slowly, patiently. He kept his eyes on Mickey, drinking him in from head to toe, relishing in the thick of his thighs and that pale fucking skin with tiny bruises in all the right places.  Those were Ian’s bruises – each and every one of them.  Mickey’s hand moved steadily, keeping himself hard, and every bit of the picture was making Ian harder.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Mick?”  He took his jacket off and folded it carefully over the back of the chair where he had laid Mickey’s suit, then slipped his tie from his neck.  Mickey’s tongue swiped across his lips.  Ian toed his shoes off, kicking them to the side.  Mickey smiled his big, beautiful smile that made Ian’s entire body tingle when he saw it.

“Come over here and find out.”  He wiggled his brows at Ian, who was unbuttoning his slacks.  “How the fuck did you even get in those pants – kinda tight, aren’t they?”

“No.”  Ian folded the pants along the crease, then hung them over his jacket. “The ladies like them tight.”  He grabbed at his cotton shorts over his dick to adjust himself. “They pay for a dance, I just wanna give them the whole package, you know?”

Ian started to unbutton his shirt at the cuffs.

“Hurry the fuck up, Gallagher.  I’m gonna finish myself off just watching you.”

Ian moved in double time, tossing his shirt haphazardly to the chair without bothering to fold it as he had done with his pants and jacket.  It fell to the floor in a pile as Ian discarded his boxers and tossed them in the same direction.

Ian moved onto the bed, crawling up in between Mickey’s open thighs until he was face to face with him.

“Why you having all the fun without me?”

“Believe me, you’re the reason I’m having all the fun, Freckles.”  The new nickname seemed to be sticking.  Ian liked it, almost as much as he liked Firecrotch.

Ian laid himself down onto Mickey, sucking the laugh that was escaping him, tasting every corner of his mouth, their tongues danced wet and sloppy against each other.  Mickey opened his hand to take hold of Ian’s dick, and began pumping both of them at the same time, provoking a deep groan from Ian.

Ian sat up suddenly, pulling free of Mickey’s grasp.  He pulled Mickey legs from behind his knees, bending them so they were up near his ribs and making Mickey laugh at the sudden enthusiasm.

“You’re gonna be late to work.”  He reminded Ian.

“Fuck work, Mick.”

“Fiona’s gonna kick your ass.”

“Fuck Fiona.”  Ian said as he held Mickey’s leg open. He moved down Mickey’s body, sliding his tongue along the tight muscles of Mickey’s stomach as he went. 

“God, I fucking love your body!”  Ian groaned. 

Mickey fingers went to his head, messing up his perfectly coifed hair, grabbing at it in fistfuls as Ian took Mickey’s dick deep into his mouth.

“Oh shit, that feels good.”

Ian pulled off with a pop and looked up, giving Mickey a wicked grin.  He leaned in further, sucking at Mickey’s sac, then ran his tongue slowly up the thick vein of his dick, lapping at the drops of precum pooling at the tip.  He closed his mouth around the tip, sucking, licking, swirling his tongue all around to taste him as if it were the only nourishment to keep him alive.

Mickey’s toes curled up as he lifted his bottom half of his body off the bed, pressing Ian’s head hard down on top of him.  Ian sucked and pulled, then sucked again, as he let go of the hold he’d had on Mickey’s legs. He moved his hands to Mickey’s hips, pulling him in as close as he could.

Mickey’s legs fell to the bed, his back arching up into Ian, his head pushing back hard into the pillow as Ian pulled his mouth back again, swirling his tongue around the tip of his dick again, taking in every drop that escaped.  Mickey moaned beneath him, unable to contain himself, digging his fingers into the bedspread.

“Fuuuck, Ian…” he cried out.

The clock was ticking, and Ian knew it, not only for work, but also for how much longer Mickey could hold out, his aching cock already swollen as he held back his orgasm.  Ian took one last dive, deep throating Mickey, then pulled back slowly off Mickey’s dick.  He sat up, then flipped Mickey onto his knees. He pressed his hand into Mickey’s upper back, pushing his head toward the pillow, leaving Mickey’s perfect ass up in the air.

“Goddamn, Mickey.  You got a great ass.”

Ian slapped Mickey’s ass hard, making it sting, then soothed his skin with the soft touch of his hand, followed by his tongue and his lips.   He left wet kisses, moving his mouth all over Mickey’s ass, leaving teeth marks as he bit and sucked here and there. 

Ian sat up, admiring the way Mickey was stretched forward on his elbows, his hands grabbing at the pillow with fists, his head just inches above the feathery pillow.  The muscles in Mickey’s back tightened and relaxed as he rocked himself into Ian’s hands.  Mickey could feel the hard callouses of Ian’s palms that left little scratches as they moved over his skin and he loved it. 

Ian grabbed him by the hips, pushing them up and forcing Mickey’s face into the pillow.  He leaned in running his tongue down Mickey’s ass until he found the tight ring of muscles of Mickey’s hole.  Mickey hissed in and jerked away instinctually, but Ian had a strong hold on his hips and pulled him back to him.

“What the fuck was that?”

Ian’s tongue found him again, pressing the tip harder against Mickey’s hole before closing his lips around it to suck and lick hungrily.  He lifted his head up to watch his boyfriend writhing with pleasure.

“You want me to stop?”

“Fuck no…no, don’t stop.  Just… fucking, give a guy a waa-aa-rn… aaa-aa-aah” He cried out again as Ian’s tongue went back to work, circling, licking, and sucking relentlessly, pressing deeper each time. 

Mickey’s eyes rolled closed, his fingers searching for purchase in the pillow as he felt the pressure build from the bottom of his dick all the way to the tip, Ian’s tongue doing all the work.

Mickey released moans and groans he didn’t even realize were coming from him, turning Ian on. pressing him to give even more – anything to hear those wonderful sounds from this beautiful man.

“Fuuuuck” Mickey moaned loudly deep into the pillow, completely uncontrollable.

In the other room, Sheila jumped from her seat on the couch and went to the kitchen at the other end of the house, stopping in the dining room just long enough to put a record on and turn the volume up a bit.

Mickey’s squirming and moaning was driving Ian wild, his own dick now leaky and aching.  He needed to fuck Mickey so bad.  He threw a hand over his mouth, grabbing a handful of spit to rub on his own dick, not bothering to find the small aloe plant he had brought from the house. He sat up and moved into position behind Mickey, running his dick in a broad teasing stripe over Mickey’s hole, bouncing his dick in a tease.

“Just fucking put it in, Ian! Jesus Christ, I need it now, you fucker!” 

Ian laughed at his needy, grumbling boyfriend. Being the caring and considerate lover that he was, he began slowly, taking his time so that Mickey wouldn’t be in any pain.  He pressed passed the tight ring of muscles, prompting a deep satisfied moan from his lover.  Ian rocked in slowly, pulling at Mickey’s hips to go deeper, then pulling out a bit before doing it all over again.  He rubbed himself inside Mickey’s hole, each time pressing further, holding tight to Mickey’s hips, until he bottomed out. 

“Oh god…”  Micky moaned loudly. Ian’s dick was huge, filling Mickey, leaving his legs shaking beneath him as Ian began to move.  Each thrust made Mickey cry out in pleasure, over and over.  Ian moved one hand to Mickey’s back, running his palm along the smooth skin. He smacked Mickey hard on the ass leaving a red hand print, then smoothing it over lovingly to soothe the sting, as he continued to pound into him. 

His dick was hitting Mickey’s spot with each and every thrust, making Mickey keen with pleasure as he gripped all around the blankets below him, doing his best to push back into Ian when he could. Mickey’s limbs were a shaking mess, beads of sweat making his skin glow.  Ian leaned into him, his torso now flank to Mickey’s back, as he reached for one of Mickey’s hands, wrapping his larger hands around Mickey’s fist and hold it firmly. He kissed along Mickey’s shoulder blades, his hot heavy breath warming Mickey’s skin, leaving it wet in his wake.  Mickey’s dick was leaking and desperate for attention as Ian pulled his hand from Mickey’s and reached around to take hold of it. 

“I’m gonna… aaa—aah… Ian!”  Mickey cried out.  Ian rocked into him, pulling at Mickey’s dick, feeling how he moved almost desperately beneath him. 

“Come on… now…”  Ian groaned as his own orgasm took hold of his body, causing him to seize momentarily, then thrust a few more times into Mickey, pushing him over the edge.

“Aaaauuuuuuufuuckk” Mickey cried out loudly, as Ian hit that bundle of nerves again and again. Mickey’s cum streaked onto the blankets below him as Ian continued to rock him through his orgasm, until every last drop had escaped him.  Ian moved above him, slower now, the heat of his cum painted deep inside of Mickey as they both slowly came back to earth.  Ian slowed more, finally allowing his body to fall gently onto Mickey’s back as he pulled out, planting them both face down onto the bed.

Mickey was too exhausted to try to move the giant red head off of him, but he couldn’t fucking breathe beneath him.  He reached back and tapped Ian’s thigh, but Ian didn’t move.

“Move. You’re fucking killing me, I can’t breathe.” He said, his voice weak and muffled in the pillow as he tapped again at Ian’s leg. 

Ian rolled off of him, all of his limbs spread out like a star, with one arm still lying across Mickey’s back.

“Mick.”

“hmmm.” 

“You have the best fucking ass I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”  He reached his arm lazily down to Mickey’s cheeks and squeezed, leaving his hand palm down on his ass.

“Fiona’s gonna fucking kill you.”

“Oh shit.  I forgot about that.”  Ian rolled over, snuggling into his boyfriend’s body. He wrapped his long legs around Mickey’s and closed his eyes.  “Fuck it. I’m just gonna blame you.  Then she’ll kick your ass.”

“Asshole.”


	42. Borrowed Courage

Glenwood Springs had several things going for them – First, they were bountiful in booze.  Second, any law enforcement on their side of the mountain also loved booze.  Third, if the every day Joe Shmoe tourist was slow to pass through, the endless line of Chicago gangsters that stopped in made up for it.  Glenwood Springs was a hot spot of activity, hiding high in the Rocky’s with a new highway that went as far West as California on one side, and almost to the east coast on the other.

Muse and Iggy were spent from what seemed like endless days searching for a needle in a haystack.  They had made their rounds through Denver, hitting up any obvious stops along the way that they thought Hammer might have gone to.  After Denver they had headed north into Wyoming, but a single day there made them quickly realize it was no place Hammer would ever be caught dead, unless he died of boredom passing through.

They had checked in with Tommy once more since arriving in Denver, only to be told to keep looking.  Tommy didn’t want them back in Chicago with all the shit that was currently hitting the fan.  Having them wander aimlessly out west was really in their best interest.  So, once they’d been given the blessing to ‘just keep fucking looking,’ they decided to look around Glendwood Springs – and by “look” they really only meant drink and party.

***

Ian hadn’t even poured a half cup of coffee when Fiona came down the stairs and began lecturing him.

“Where the hell were you last night?  We had a full house on Opening Night, and you were nowhere to be found! I had to ask _Carl_ to take your place and you know all he does is step on toes when he dances – _on purpose!”_  

“He doesn’t do it on purpose.  He does it because he sucks at dancing.” 

“Well, you should have been there, you little shit.  You didn’t even bother to check in with anyone and you know we needed…”

“Mornin’.”  Mickey walked into the kitchen interrupting Fiona’s lecture, earning a grateful smile from Ian as he took Ian’s coffee cup from his hands and mouthed _you’re welcome_.

“Morning, Mickey.  I didn’t realize you were here.” Her voice a whole spoonful of sugar sweeter than it had been a moment earlier.

“Yeah, came by to help Ian out today.  I was in the middle of fixing that damn boiler again for Sheila when he stopped by last night.  He stayed to help – took us most of the night.”  Ian poured himself another cup of coffee, maybe just a little impressed by Mickey’s natural talent to spin a lie.  “Sorry he missed your thing.  Anyway, said I’d help him with the work orders today if you got any.”

Fiona looked between them, trying to weed through the lie Mickey had told, but neither of them were giving anything away.

“I didn’t realize her boiler was still giving her trouble.  Ian, I wish you had called or something.”

“I did.  No one answered” He said smoothly, knowing there was no possible way to prove him wrong.

“Well, shoot.  Now I just feel like a jerk.  I’m sorry I yelled at you, Ian.”  She gave Mickey a compulsory grin. “All right.  Let’s at least have some pancakes before you boys head out.  You must be starving.”

Ian and Mickey both hummed, nodding their head, then went about setting the table while Fiona pulled ingredients from the shelves.

“Eh, Fiona, would it be ok if I used your phone again?” Mickey asked. It had been a hot minute since he’d been in contact with Caffrey back in Chicago, and no matter how much he wanted to disappear from that world all together, he knew eventually he was going to have to set things straight.  He was more and more sure each day that he didn’t want to go back, but there were responsibilities to attend to.

“Oh course, go ahead and use the one in the back office.”

***

“Goddamn it, Milkovich, where the hell have you been?” Caffrey’s kept his voice at an angry whisper as he went to close his office door, looking around the room outside to make sure no one had heard him.

Mickey ignored his bosses question.

“Listen, I only have a minute to use this line.  I need to know what’s going on out there.  Did Sullivan sing yet?”

“No, not a word, but that’s because he hasn’t been here.”

“Where is he?” 

“Keeps calling in sick. For a guy on the brink of the poorhouse in this economy, he has a lot of guts taking a week off.”

Mickey knew there was more to it than just calling in sick.  As long as he could remember, Sullivan had never taken a sick day.  He was a tight ass, cheap bastard, and even if he could afford the time off, he never took it.

Caffrey changed course.  He knew Mickey wasn’t ready to trust him or anyone else with his location, and had the tables been turned, Caffrey was positive he would behave the same way, so he didn’t ask where he was again.   This time he went straight to what he’d been missing hoping Mickey would bite.

“The streets are a fucking madhouse, Mickey.  You gotta give me something here.”

As per usual, Mickey diverted the question.

“Listen, I gotta get going.  I think Sullivan knows I’m still alive.  Either he going to Terry or he’ll coming looking for me soon, but I doubt he’d go to Terry – that would probably end with a slug in his head.”

Mickey was quiet a beat.  If there were some way to just throw in the towel right now and tell his boss he was calling it and quitting, he would do it.  He’d hand over his badge right now and never look back, and move to that fucking cabin up the mountain with Ian.  But he knew one thing for certain, either one of Terry’s men or Sullivan would be hunting him down, sooner than later, and until that was resolved, he’d never be able to make that choice.  “I really gotta go… but I need to know if you have my back.”

“I don’t even know where the hell you are.  How do you expect me to help you?”

Mickey didn’t have an answer for that.

“Just… check in with me and I’ll let you know what I find out.” Caffrey offered.  “And I don’t mean next month, Milkovich.  If you’re gonna keep hiding from me too, then I can’t keep you safe.”

“Yeah. I get it.  Hey, real quick – what did you mean earlier when you said the streets are a madhouse?”

“Jesus, Mickey, you living in a fucking cave or something?  It’s been in the papers all across the country – there’s an all-out war going on here. It’s been a damn slaughter house since you went missing.”

In a way, Mickey had been living in a cave, secluded up here on the mountain with the Gallaghers. He hadn’t seen a paper in days and even then, he only gave it half his attention at the diner.

“No, I haven’t see a paper.” He confessed.  “I’ll call you later.” 

He hung up the phone before Caffrey could protest.

***

“You know she’s gonna call Sheila, then kick both of our asses for lying to her, right?” 

They were climbing into the truck, full from a hot breakfast and ready to get a few jobs out of the way before lunch.

“Don’t worry about it.  I got it covered.  I told Sheila we were coming here to get our asses handed to us this morning, and she was the one who gave me the story.”

Ian looked at Mickey curiously, “When did you and Sheila get so buddy-buddy?” 

“When she decided I was her personal entertainer, making me play that fucking piano every time you’re not there to save me.” 

Ian warmed to the memory of the first time he’s laid eyes on Mickey sitting at the piano, lost in his own thoughts and the music. He was then as he was now the most beautiful man Ian had ever laid eyes on. It had been a bolt of lightning to Ian’s system, stopping him in his tracks that day.  Truth be told, every time he saw Mickey, that same electricity rippled through his veins and pumped through his heart.  Mickey was under his skin and there wasn’t a damn thing Ian could do about it. 

They picked up the tools and job orders where Fiona had left them at the Outfitters, then went about their day.  Mid day, they stopped in town at the diner for lunch.  There were so many new faces Mickey didn’t recognize.  Ian pointed a few out, telling Mickey they were ‘drivers’ and had been gone most of the summer on runs.  They ran booze, and now they were home for the winter to make them.  Ian introduced Mickey to a few of the Speakeasy’s regulars who had spent the night in town, and they had long conversations with a few of the other men Mickey had met either at Fiona’s or the mine, all of them warm and welcoming to Mickey as if he had been living in Gallway his entire life.

Ian had his chair moved close to Mickey’s, giving the excuse that he had been making room for a few of the men who joined their table, but they were all sitting much further away, making his excuse invalid.  Mickey didn’t seem to mind.  Initially it had caught him a bit off guard when Ian reached under the table to lay his hand atop of Mickey’s, but the touch had been brief before Ian moved his back to the table top.  He hadn’t miss the smile it left on Mickey’s face though.  They laughed and talked with the other men, bumping shoulders and knees casually against each other so often that after a while Mickey stopped worrying about it.

After lunch, they left the diner and walked the few blocks back to the Outfitter, still laughing from some of the stories the men had shared of Ian growing up.  Ian slipped his fingers into Mickey’s. It was such an organic gesture that they had walked almost a block before Mickey realized what he had done and began to feel the panic rise in him.  He pulled his hand quickly from Ian’s, making Ian stop where he stood and look at him confused.

“You ok?”

Mickey’s eyes searched the street nervously as he thumbed at his lip. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”  He lied. 

He started to walk, putting a little distance between them,  but acting as if nothing had happened, but Ian didn’t follow him. 

“You comin’?”

Ian began walking, letting Mickey move a little faster, putting even more distance between them. 

“Hey, come on.  Your legs are like twice as long as mine, what’s the hold up?”  Mickey griped, turning to wait for Ian.

Ian stopped right up next to him, glancing around the street then back at Mickey. 

“Mick, are you ashamed to be with me?”

A lump filled Mickey’s throat and he held his breath.  It wasn’t Ian. He could never be ashamed of Ian.  He shook his head,

“No.” he said unsure.

“Then what is it? I mean, I guess if you don’t want to hold my hand, you don’t have to.  I’m ok with that.  Well, I can be ok with that. I just wanted to know if it was me.”

Mickey swallowed hard, still at a loss for words as he looked around the street.  There were a few towns people walking up and down the main stretch, but none of them paying any attention to him or Ian.  Those that did happen to look, only waved happily, calling out a friendly hello.

“It’s ok, Mickey.  Look around.  No one cares.”

Mickey’s heart pounded, the cool breeze of the day doing nothing to ease the heated sweat now moistening his skin.  His eyes met Ian’s.  Ian smiled at him, confident and sure of himself.  Mickey’s heart swelled with bravery and courage that was surely borrowed from Ian’s close proximation. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out for Ian, wrapping his hand around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.  Mickey’s could practically hear his heart pounding in his ears and his head, but he didn’t pull away.  Scared to death and almost shaking, he opened his mouth to Ian’s, drowning in the taste and smell and feel of his boyfriend wrapping his arms and body around him. His inhibitions melted quickly away as Ian slid his fingers into Mickey’s hair and held him close, holding their kiss until they were out of breath, coming up for air at last still wrapped in each other’s arms.

They stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, lips still nearly touching as they caught their breath. Mickey’s hand running along the fresh stubble of Ian’s jaw.

“I’m ok.” He said, looking at Ian at last.  “Actually, I’m fucking perfect.”

He left another soft kiss on Ian’s lips then slipped his hand down to take hold of Ian’s and headed back in the direction of the Outfitter.  He wasn’t fucking perfect.  Ian could feel his hand tremble in his own, and even if Mickey didn’t want to admit it, Ian knew what it had taken for him to kiss him right there, on the street, for everyone to see.

Ian smiled the entire way back to the Outfitters.  They said hello to several people, all of them smiling and friendly as they passed, and not a single one of the people they passed looked at their hands wrapped together.  Mickey was so happy.  He felt ridiculous as he swallowed down the unexpected emotion of it all, hoping Ian wouldn’t notice.  His hands were trembling slightly less than before, and Ian was gracious enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“You got plans tonight, Mick?”

Mickey glanced at Ian and laughed.

“Yeah, I was kinda hoping you had the same plans.”

“I do.  I thought maybe… I mean, you can say no, but I thought maybe we could go out.  You know, on a date or something.”

“What do you mean, go out?  Like, away from Gallway?”  Mickey asked.

He was suddenly aware that the safety he was feeling while holding Ian’s hand had quite a bit to do with the fact that they were there, in Gallway, in Ian’s safe little world where everyone turned a blind eye and accepted love in all forms.  What would happen if they left?  Ian picked up on the sudden anxiety and squeezed Mickey’s hand just a little bit to ground him.

“No, Mick.  We can stay here.  If you want.  I thought maybe we could have dinner, just me and you.  Everyone will be working tonight, so we’d have the house to ourselves.”

“Don’t you have to work too?”

“Begged off.”  Ian said,

“The fuck do you mean, you ‘begged off?’  Your sister was ready to rip your balls off this morning for missing last night.  If you miss again, she’s gonna be coming for my ass.”

“No, it’s ok.  She was just being… You know, Fiona.  She was probably more worried than mad. Anyway, I already told her I wouldn’t be there tonight, so I’m free.  If you want to, I mean.” 

Mickey nodded, “I could eat,” he laughed a bit as he repeated the words Ian had once said to him. 

That day seemed so long ago now.  He counted the days since he’d been in Gallway – since he first laid eyes on Ian.  In all the right ways, it felt as though he had been with Ian forever.


	43. Some-More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy! Errors Errors! So many errors! I know... I'm sorry! I'd go back and fix them, but it's 2 in the morning and the chances of that happening are pretty damn slim (Zero actually). If you're still reading this, (through the mistakes - I know there are a lot of Grammar Nazis out there!) I am grateful! ;) Here are a few more errors to finish off your Monday!

The date night Ian had chosen for them was simple – they drove deep into the woods and found an open area to build a fire.  Just the two of them, no work, no family or townsmen, no sibling drama, and no pressure.  Just Ian and Mickey cooking up some steaks and sipping what had quickly become Mickey’s favorite whiskey without the added pressure doing all of it in a public.  Mickey had been anxious all afternoon since Ian had asked him out on a date, and Ian was keenly aware of it, especially after lunch, so he’d changed the original plan to go into Estes for the night and brought Mickey to the woods instead.  It was perfect. 

Before the steaks ever made it onto the fire, things had heated up between Mickey and Ian.  A simple grateful kiss from Mickey turned into a longer, more heated kiss, which turned into a bit of groping then tugging and pulling off each other clothes, which turned into an incredible wild round of Mickey riding Ian until the campfire they had built burned itself down to a quiet glow.

Once the fire between the two of them had cooled a bit, Mickey pulled his shirt on and wrapped the winter coat Fiona had given back to him around his shoulders.  He sat a little closer to the firepit and Ian went about setting up a new campfire with more logs now that the sun had gone down.  The glow of the flames made him appear to be all of the mountain man that he was.  His red beard and hair were scruffy, his clothes consisted of little more than a long sleeve thermal and jeans, and his skin was rugged and worn from the sun.  Everything about him captured Mickey’s attention – he couldn’t look away from this beautiful man if he tried.  Watching Ian on this mountain was peaceful and soothing.  Mickey wondered if he could ever fit into Ian’s world so seamlessly.

Ian walked over as Mickey slipped on his second boot and shivered a little.

“Here.”  He took his own knitted cap from his back pocket and slipped it over Mickey’s head, bringing it down over his ears, then lifted Mickey’s face to his to kiss his icy cold nose.

“We gotta get you warmed up again.”

“I think a good start to that is not to get me undressed again, and I should be fine.” Mickey pecked his lips then finished tying his boots.  “So, aren’t you supposed to wine and dine me on a date?”

Ian pulled out a bottle of Gallagher Whiskey.  One with an official label made for Ian’s 18th birthday.

“Thought we could open the bottle I gave you, you know, since it’s our first date and all.”

Mickey took the bottle and admired the label a bit more closely than he had before. It really meant something to him to know that Ian had gone back for that bottle the day at the mine.

“I thought we were gonna save this one for your birthday?” Mickey asked.

Ian felt more confident now than he had few days ago that Mickey would be around come spring to actually open the bottle for his birthday, but it still felt so far away.  He thought better now than never, trying not to think too much about the chance that Mickey might change his mind and leave Gallway someday soon.  No one ever stayed – and as much as Ian wanted to believe this was different, he just kept reminding himself to enjoy it as long as he could, because no one ever stayed.

“Ok.  We can do that, but the only other thing I have to drink is a half bottle of hooch in the back of the truck.”

Even the liquor the Gallaghers called hooch was good stuff, so Mickey jumped up to get it while Ian went about finally getting their steaks on the fire.

By the time they had filled themselves with decent whiskey, baked potatoes, and perfect steaks so rare they practically moo’d, Mickey was toasty and warm again.  He leaned his back against the giant log where Ian had set up a spot with blankets and pillows.  He went to reach for Ian, but Ian jumped up and walked off toward the woods, coming back a few minutes later with two long sticks in hand.

Ian wiped the tip of each stick with his hand, then put them into the fire for a minute to burn.  He pulled them out again and wiped the soot onto his jeans.

“Hand me a couple of those, would you?”  He said pointed to a brown bag of marshmallows.

Mickey handed him two, which Ian speared and set into the fire. He turned the stick slowly until they burst into flames over the fire.  He sat back next to Mickey, pulled the blanket up over their legs, and kept a close eye on the flaming mallows to make sure they didn’t get too black.

Mickey kept his eye on the flames wondering what the hell Ian was doing.  Ian blew out the flame, then slid the marshmallows onto graham crackers with a small square of chocolate until it melted.  He handed it to Mickey.

“The fuck is that?”  Mickey asked, taking it with a grimace.

“It’s delicious, try it.”

Ian made another and took a bite, while Mickey just held onto his own. 

“Mick, try it!”  Ian said with stuffed mouth.

“But what is it?” He asked again.

“Some more.”  Ian mumbled with a full mouth.

 _Some more what?_  Mickey wondered.  It wasn’t the chocolate or the cracker he was questioning.  It was the giant black melted mess on top that had him second guessing it, but Ian seemed to be enjoying it, so he took a bite.

“Don’t swallow yet.  Drink this.”  Ian handed Mickey a fresh shot of alcohol to chase the dessert.

“Good, right?” 

Mickey groaned with pleasure, “Oh my god, that’s delicious.” He said, stuffing the rest messily into his mouth. 

“Yeah, and dangerous.  I can eat like a hundred of these, but a hundred shots might kill me.”

Mickey laid back on the pillow, licking his fingers, staring up at the night sky filled with more stars he could ever remembers seeing.  Ian looked up and pointed at a shooting star.

“Oooh, make a wish!”

Mickey didn’t make a wish, exactly.  He stared at his red head, and just offered a silent bit of gratitude instead.  Maybe there was some sort of wish mixed in there someplace, but he wasn’t quite sure what that wish was. 

Ian laid back and took Mickey’s hand across his own belly, then began pointing out the different constellations and telling him stories behind each of them.  He pointed out a few stars that were visible only in the second half of the year and told Mickey how someone could navigate their way just by knowing where they were in the sky.

“It’s good to know, just in case you ever get lost, you know? Of course, come spring, I’ll have to show you a whole new set of stars when the sky changes.” 

Right at the moment, as Ian described how to navigate his way back home by the stars, Mickey realized ironically that he was about as lost as he had ever been in his life.  There he laid, in the middle of nowhere, a fugitive of sorts running from the mob, and possibly even the Feds – fuck if he knew - laying on a blanket under the stars and eating whatever the hell Ian had called those things – ‘some-more’ or something ridiculous like that - with no home he could go back to, and no home he could go forward to.

He squeezed Ian’s fingers in his own, pushing away the anxious feeling that was building in him. For the time being, Ian was his north star.  Ian felt like home.

“Do you ever do anything like a normal person?” Mickey asked as he leaned in closer to Ian. Ian slipped his arm underneath Mickey, pulling him in for a quick kiss. The warmth from his body, even without a jacket on, immediately warming Mickey even more.

Ian snickered, “This is normal, Mickey.  Just because you had a shit childhood and never ate a some-more doesn’t mean it’s not normal.” 

He sat up and began stacking new marshmallows on the stick.

“Yeah, but when you asked me out to dinner, I thought you meant inside a building where we weren’t gonna fucking freeze to death.”  He shivered unintentionally with added effect.

“Eh, I thought about it.  I guess we could have made dinner at the house, but I’m not sure who’ll be in and out of the house tonight.   Plus, when you told me you’d never had a some-more before I thought this would be better.  Are you not enjoying it? We can leave if you want.”

“No, no… I’m just wondering how the fuck I went from the streets of Chicago to sitting on fucking blanket looking at the stars with you.  I never thought back in the day, that I’d wind up here.”

Ian handed him a new some more, chocolate dripping from the sides.  Mickey took a small bite of it to test it out, but it began to fall apart, forcing him to stuff the entire thing into his mouth.

“Shit, aah, fuck that’s hot!”

Mickey puffed in and out, hoping the cold air would soothe the hot bite he’d taken. Ian handed him a flask.

“Drink.”  Surprisingly, the flask was filled with cold water, offering instant relief.

“Damn it, that was hot!  I burned my tongue.  Look…” He stuck his tongue out of his mouth for Ian to exam, “ith ih burhd?”

Ian put his arm around Mickey pulling him into his shoulder as he laughed.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said.”  He leaned in and kissed Mickey’s open mouth, tasting the chocolate and marshmallow on his tongue. 

“Mmmm, you taste good.  Do you like them?  You want another one?”

“Yeah, why not, I already burned all my taste buds off.”  

Ian pushed two more marshmallows onto the long stick and handed it to Mickey.

“Here. Just keep turning it over the flame.  Be careful not to let it melt off.”

“Whoa, wait! Where are you going?” 

Mickey’s eyes darted to the dark beyond the fire.  It hadn’t left his mind that they were in grizzly country and his mind went back to the deep gashes left behind at the cabins.

“I gotta piss. Be right back.”

Mickey sat up, all nerves as he listened for any unknown noises in the woods.  Ian caught sight of him as he stepped around the far end of the truck and chuckled.  For a tough guy, Mickey wasn’t all that tough out here in the open woods.

“Hurry the fuck up, Gallagher.”

“Jesus, Mickey, let me get my fuckin’ dick out first.  Don’t burn the marshmallows.”

Mickey chuckled at that and relaxed a little, leaning back into the log and turning his attention back to the marshmallows.  A minute later he heard the truck door open and close, then Ian was back, sitting next to him and pulling a blanket up over their legs.  He had brought a guitar from the truck.

“You play that thing?”

“Yep, and not well, so don’t expect anything close to what you do with the piano.  I’ve been learning for about two years or so.  It’s good for the Kumbayas, you know?”

There was that word again.  “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Don’t have a clue.  Heard it once from one of our tourists.  Been saying it ever since. Kumbayakumbayakumbaya!”  Ian chanted loudly.

“You’re an idiot.” 

He pulled the stick with the flaming marshmallows to his mouth and blew out the flames, then went about making each of them a some more the same way Ian had done – graham, chocolate, mallow, graham.  This time he gave his plenty of time to cool down before taking a bite.

Ian strummed his guitar, hitting a few wrong strings at first.  He set the guitar on his lap, slapped his hands together hard, then rubbed them vigorously, creating some friction and heat in his palms.  When his fingers had warmed a bit, he tried again, this time the chords of the guitar were sharp and true.

“So, what’s it like up here, you know, like when you’re not ditching work or cleaning out toilets for people?”

Ian hummed a tune as he played, thinking about the answer to that. 

“It’s actually not too different than this.  I’m always busy, every day, like it was when we were up at the cabins. That’s what I do… you know, for work.”  He stopped playing and looked at Mickey timidly, “Is that boring to you?”

Mickey lifted one of the some-mores to Ian’s mouth so he could take a bite, then leaned in to taste the treat on his lips, sucking the sweetness from the edges of his mouth. He couldn’t imagine a life where he got to play all day long.  That was a huge overstatement and he knew it – the time he’d spent with the Gallaghers were some of the hardest physical days Mickey had ever worked, but Ian’s life felt a lot like play to him.

“No, ‘s not boring at all.”  He answered as he ate the other half of the some-more keeping his eyes on Ian.  Ian was looking at his fingers on the neck of the guitar.  His lashes like red glitter cast their shadows on his eyes from the firelight.  “I actually really love it here.” Mickey added.

Ian began to strum a practiced tune.  He turned his head and leaned in to kiss Mickey quickly as he played.  “I love you being here, Mick.”

He looked back at his fingers and hummed.  Mickey laid back again and closed his eyes, taking in the sound and the smell of crackling fire mixed with the scent of the forest pines all around them. His mind drifted away with the strum of guitar and Ian’s humming.  Mickey took an occasional nibbles at his some-more and wondered what it would be like, waking up every morning in these mountains for the rest of his life …in Ian’s cabin, in Ian’s arms.

This was what he wanted – This mountain and all of its secrets, these people who took care of each other, the cabins and the fish, the blue skies, the mountain silence.  Hell, he’d even take the grizzlies as long as they stayed on their end of the forest.

Mickey wanted this moment to freeze exactly as it was, right then, but his gut turned as reality reared its ugly head.  Sullivan.  Terry.  Everything he left behind.  He couldn’t hide in these mountains forever. 

He turned on his side to watch Ian. Sooner or later Mickey knew he had to make a decision – stay or go.  And If he stayed, Ian deserved to know everything.  He _needed_ to know.  Mickey reached a hand out to Ian’s leg and squeezed, hoping to get his attention, but Ian continued to hum his song.

“Ian.” 

Ian looked up, seeing the concern on Mickey’s face. He let the guitar rest in his lap. “What is it, Mick?”

“I need to talk to you.”


	44. Token Asshole

For the first time between the two of them, the tables had turned – now it was Mickey’s turn to talk and Ian’s turn to listen. Mickey laid it all on the line.  He was tired of holding everything in, and ready to sacrifice whatever he needed to try to find some way to stay in Gallway with Ian.  Ian only asked clarifying questions, surprising Mickey by seeming to be so understanding.  He thought he was in for the 3rd degree, but Ian was more concerned about getting the facts as Mickey knew them straight rather than dwelling in any drama or assumptions.

The conversation put a damper on their date, and by the time they packed up camp and got back to Gallway, Mickey assumed Ian would be dropping him at the Jackson house and leaving just as quick as possible.  Instead they turned up the long drive of the Gallagher estate without hesitation.  Ian led Mickey straight to his own room, then left for a moment to leave a note for Fiona.

_***_

_Tap tap tap…_

“hmmm…”

“Ian. You up?” Fiona whispered through the door.

He pulled his arm carefully, rolling Mickey over onto his own pillow.

“Yep. Give me a sec.” He called back quietly.

“I’ll go make us some coffee.”

He sat up on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his face and through his thick messy hair, trying to push the groggy sleep away. He turned to look at his sleeping boyfriend, pulling the blankets up over him, and gently running his fingers along Mickey’s shoulder before getting up to find his boxers.

“Morning.” Fiona said gently when he came into the kitchen. 

Everyone in the house had gotten home in the early hours of the morning, and none were too anxious to be up at such an early hour, but Ian had left a note on Fiona’s pillow telling her they needed to talk as soon as possible.  She allowed herself three hours of sleep before tapping at Ian’s door. 

“Your note sounded important. I woke Lip up.  He’ll be down in a minute.  Is that ok? If not I can tell him to go back to bed, I’m sure there’d be no argument from him.”

“No, it’s ok.  I kinda figured you might.” If Ian had needed to talk to her about something personal, he would have told her he needed a minute with her alone, but he had simply written _we need to talk as soon as possible._ That automatically implied business, and Lip was part of that business.

“God, please say there’s coffee.” Lip grumbled as he walked into the room yawning.  “Why the fuck are we up at six on a Sunday?”

“Sit.  I’ll make pancakes.  Ian… you talk.”

Ian took a deep breath, looking back and forth from Lip to Fiona.  Lip had his head down in his crossed arms on the table. Fiona went about the kitchen, glancing expectantly at Ian. 

“Come on kid.  You got us all up at the crack of dawn, let’s hear whatcha got.”

“Ok.  But just hear me out before you start, you know, getting all crazy, ok?”  Ian said.

With that Lip looked up with from his arms at Ian, giving him the infamous judgmental look Ian was so accustomed to. 

“I wanted to talk to you about Mickey.”

“Ok” Fiona said anxiously. “Should I be nervous about what you’re trying so hard not to tell us?”

Ian’s guilty eyes met hers and she knew something big was up.  She set the mixing spoon on the counter, wiping her hands on a towel and headed to the table to sit with her brothers.

“Shit, what’s going on?”

Ian told them everything, starting with the night at the cabin when Mickey told him he was an FBI Agent and Ian had confessed to being a bootlegger. 

“A what!?”  Fiona had exclaimed, and “Fuck.” was all Lip managed before Ian reminded them they had agreed to let him talk without interrupting.  He needed to get this out in one shot, so he didn’t back down.

Ian ran through Mickey’s freak out on the road as they walked to the mine, skimming over the little details but giving them what they needed.  Lip sat with his fingers rubbing circles in his temples and shaking his head as Ian talked.  Fiona sat most of the time with her head tilted back a little and two hands covering her face, as if it would make all of this disappear.

“Well, fuck… I’m not sure if thinking he was part of the mafia was better or worse.” Lip said, when Ian had stopped to take a much needed drink of coffee.

“Wait… that’s not the end.”  Ian said cautiously as he set his cup down.

“How could this story possibly get any worse?  Please, continue.” Fiona demanded.

Mickey woke shortly after Ian left the room.  He waited a minute for the red head to return, but when he didn’t Mickey got up to go find him.  He was about to head down the back steps of the house that led to the kitchen when he heard Lip – “ _part of the mafia was better or worse.”_

Mickey stood at the top of the stairs to listen.  Ian had told him that it was time to talk to Fiona, but Mickey had thought that meant ‘eventually,’ not at the crack of dawn.

 _“Please, continue.”_ Fiona said.

Mickey sat on the top steps waiting.  He didn’t know how much Ian had told them yet, but he was sure by the sound of Lip and Fiona’s voices, they knew he was a Fed.

“All right.  So, last night Mickey told me what brought him to Gallway.”  Ian fiddled with his coffee cup nervously. “Turns out he had to leave Chicago because his dad is part of the mob… or something.”

“I knew it!  Didn’t I tell you, Fiona?  I told her – it was in the paper and I told her.”  Lip stated matter-of-factly. “How the fuck does a Fed have a mobster for a father?  Explain that to me.”

“That’s… I … it’s not really important! Fuck, can I please finish?” Lip waved his hand in Ian’s direction, cueing him to continue. “His dad tried to have him killed.”

“WHAT!?” Lip and Fiona said simultaneously as Ian held his hand up impatiently.

“Mickey said he had been investigating some shit, getting a little too close to his dad’s crew, and Terry – his dad – put a hit on him.  They were gonna dump him in Lake Michigan.”

“Shit, you mean that stuff is true, about ‘sleeping with the fishes?’” Lip asked.

“Apparently…” 

There were so many details to this story that Mickey had shared, and Ian was leery on what to tell them and what to leave out. He continued, touching on things he thought were necessary, finishing with, “So, now he thinks Terry’s men might be in Colorado, and his partner, uh, or ex-partner, might try to find him as well.” 

That was basically the entire story.  Ian quit talking. Lip and Fiona had a silent conversation with their worried eyes. Mickey decided that moment was as good a time as any to walk into the lion’s den.  He bounced down the stairs, making sure to hit each step a bit heavier than usual so they would know he was coming.

He walked straight over to Ian, putting a hand in his head to pull him close, kissing the top of his head. 

“Morning.” He spoke mostly to Ian, but Fiona replied with her own _good morning._

Lip only glared at him disdainfully.  Ian rolled his eyes at his brother.  One minute Lip hated the idea that he might be a mafia thug, now he hated him because he was the Fed who put the mafia thugs away.  There was no winning with Lip.

Mickey went to the cupboard and grabbed a cup to pour coffee, trying to look as natural as possible in his movements, even though he was nervous as fuck not knowing what was about to come next.  He turned from the stove with his coffee and found all eyes on him.

“You told me you weren’t a cop.”  Fiona stated angrily.

“’M not. I’m an FBI Agent. Big difference.”

“The fuck it is.  It may be worse.” Lip said, leaning back in his chair so he could cross his arms in front of him.  “You didn’t think that was fucking important to mention?”

Mickey took a sip of his coffee, keeping his eyes on Lip. The hot liquid heated his blood – or maybe it was the way that asshole Lip was looking at him that was making his blood begin to boil.  It was hard to say. 

“No.  Actually, it was none of your business at the time.  I was just trying to get my truck fixed, remember?”

Fiona nodded a bit in agreement.  He wasn’t wrong. 

“Besides, if you weren’t doing anything fuckin’ wrong, it wouldn’t matter what job I had, would it, _Phillip_?” He challenged.

Lip jumped from his seat suddenly, not startling Mickey in the least.

“You fucking lied to…”

“LIP! Sit Down.” Fiona demanded, standing up to get between them. 

Mickey continued to sip his coffee as if nothing had happened.  Lip sat, kicking the chair next to his.  Mickey walked around to go sit by Ian, slipping his hand under the table to take hold of Ian’s once he was seated.

“Ok, shit… just everyone settle down for a minute and let me think.”  She looked at Mickey and pointed.  “YOU split some fucking hairs on that one, and you know it… but… I guess you’re right.  It wasn’t like you had to tell us anything.  Shit. I can’t think.”

Mickey gave her a minute, then set his cup on the table and sighed deeply. 

“Listen, I don’t know exactly what you need to think about here. I told Ian everything because,” He glanced sideways at Ian, giving him the smallest of smiles, “because _he_ deserved to know the truth.” 

Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand under the table and continued.  “I’m not here working right now. I’m literally hiding, until all the shit back in Chicago pans out. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“For how long?” Lip asked smugly. “Until your truck is fixed?  Until you’re done fucking around with Ian? Until…”

Ian jumped to his feet and reached for Lip but didn’t get to him because Mickey was up just as quickly to pull him back. Fiona was at Lip’s side just as fast.

“SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!” She yelled. 

Mickey pulled Ian back, rubbing his back until he took a seat.  Lip really never stopped being an asshole, Mickey thought.   He looked at Lip, ready to put him in his place and shut him up.

“You are an asshole.” Mickey said pointedly, staring at Lip.  “Now _most_ felon bootleggers wouldn’t be fucking trying to piss me off, but you have balls.” 

Fiona’s heart jumped a little.  Lip’s face revealed his sudden vulnerability at Mickey’s words. 

“So, to answer your fucking question, even though I believe I already have, you don’t have anything to worry about. Now or ever.”  Mickey added. Ian reached and squeezed his thigh under the table lightly.

“Fiona.” Ian said, looking in his boyfriend’s eyes, “I asked Mickey to stay.  That’s why he told me.”

“Oh, so you were just planning on lying about it until he finally backed you into a corner, is that it?”

Lip couldn’t fucking shut up if his life depended on it.  Ian shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Can you _please_ just shut the _FUCK_ up!?”  Ian cried out, turning on his brother. “Goddamn it, Lip! There is no winning with you.  If he had told us when he first got here, everyone would have turned him out.  He TOLD me!  It doesn’t fucking matter when he told me, ok?  And now I’m telling you, so stop acting like a fucking child and try to have one goddamn conversation where you’re not being the token asshole of Gallway!”

Fiona grinned and raised her brows, impressed at Ian’s outburst. “Yeah, Lip.  Stop being the token asshole.” She laughed.

“Oh, this is all so funny, isn’t it?”  Lip began to argue again.

Fiona hit her hand hard on the table, “Enough!  That’s enough!”  Ian and Lip were capable of bickering all day if she didn’t step in. “Ian… Mickey…” 

She looked at the two men sitting there next to each other, Ian wide eyed and scared that she would tell him it was time for Mickey to leave – and then his worst fear came true.

“Mickey, I wish you had come to me.  I’m sorry, but I need to have to ask you to leave.”

Ian went to get up from his chair to protest, but Mickey pulled him back, shaking his head.  He knew it was better for all of them if he left.  They didn’t need to deal with whatever hell was sure to catch up with him. 

“Fiona, no!” Ian said desperately.

“Ian, just give him your keys.  I’ll drop you off at Sheila’s house after we’re done talking.” 

Ian’s eyes were glassy, darting from her to Lip, silently begging them not to send Mickey away, when she realized what he must be thinking. 

“Oh!  Oh my god, Ian.  No, honey.  I don’t mean he has to leave _town_.  We just need to talk privately to figure this out… I don’t know.” She walked around the table and took Ian into her arms, comforting him, then held her hands on the sides of his face as she spoke softly.  “Ian, it’ll be ok.  He’s not leaving, ok?”

Ian jaws clenched as he nodded, then went to get the keys to his truck up in his room.

“Mickey.” 

He bit his lip nervously. With Ian out of the room, he was gearing up for what Fiona must really want – _leave town and I’ll break it to Ian –_ “How much trouble can this really cause?  Just, be honest.  I need to know what we’re dealing with here if we’re going to protect you.”

Protect him?  His eyes darted up to meet hers.  He had expected her to tell him he needed to find a way to leave and never look back.  What he didn’t expect was for her to say she would protect him. 

“Uhm… listen, it’s pretty fucking bad.  It might be better if I just go, but I need my truck, or at least a ride.  I can get another car back in Denver.”

Lip spoke next as he walked his coffee cup to the sink.

“I’ll take you back to Denver to pick up whatever you need if you have things there, but you’re safer here.” 

He looked at Mickey, who now looked even more perplexed and confused.

“You like my brother?” Lip asked, “Don’t fuck with me either, just give it to me straight.”

Mickey nodded.  Yes, he liked Ian.  He actually _liked_ liked like _really_ liked Ian, to use Ian’s ridiculous words. 

“Do you love him, Mickey?”  Fiona asked softly.  She knew how Ian felt, but she needed to know how Mickey felt as well.

He didn’t answer.  Love wasn’t something Mickey knew or even recognized in his life.  He wasn’t sure if this was love, but he knew that he would do whatever was necessary to keep Ian safe, even if it meant leaving him. 

“I need to know, because… because Ian loves you.  I can see it, you know, the way he gets every time he’s with you.  And I don’t want this to hurt him.  You’re welcome to stay, and we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe, but if you don’t feel the same way about him, it might be better if you left Gallway before things get worse.”

Ian was just coming down the back stairs when he heard Mickey, “Yeah. I love him.”


	45. Rip Your Tongue Out

Mickey pulled Ian’s truck around the back of the Jackson house at just about 7:30 in the morning, wondering why there were so many cars on the street out front.   As he opened the front door, there was soft music playing in the living room and people mulling about quietly between the dining room where Sheila had set out coffee and muffins, to the other rooms in the house.

Sheila came out of the kitchen wearing bright yellow potholders on her hand.

“Oh good, Mickey.  I’m glad you’re back.”

“What’s with all these people?”  He headed for his room with Sheila in pursuit.

“Guests, dear.  We have a packed house.  It’ll be like this every weekend until spring, as long as the roads are clear. Listen, I need your help with something.  I asked Ian to come by so we can load up the boxes for the festival today, but I haven’t heard from him.  Do you know where he is?”

“He’s at the house. I have his truck. What festival?”

“Oh, the Fall Festival. Didn’t he tell you about it?”

Mickey remembered Ian telling him about it, but with all the had happened since then it had slipped his mind. “Ah, yeah, I remember something about that.”

“Ok, good.  Well, listen, since you already have his truck, do you think you can help me get everything loaded up? We need to be all set up by 9!  I’m so excited!  Aren’t you excited?”  She kept talking while Mickey nodded closed the door, inch by inch hoping she’d get the hint and leave, but she kept going. “We’re going to have hot cider, and pie, and there will be lots and lots of…”

“Ok, gotta go. Sorry.  I’ll be out in about ten minutes, gotta go, bye bye now.”

The door clicked closed and he could hear her still, “Ok, then.  I’ll see you in a few minutes.  I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anyt…”

He fell onto the bed and pulled a pillow over his face drowning out her fading voice, trying to remember when he had gone from being a “guest” to being a towny who had to do work and load up the truck.  He supposed it came with the moment that damn red headed had the whole town thinking he had a claim on Mickey.  They weren’t wrong.

Damn Gallaghers were wearing him thin.  Mickey had been living the same exact daily routine for years now – wake up, work, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat, and on occasion, find some quick fuck at the bar who was passing through town. He had been perfectly happy all those years with no one ever once asking him where his fucking _boyfriend_ was, or telling him to load fucking pies into a truck, or asking him if he was in love… Ok, happy might not be the word for what he was, but at least he had grown used to it.

He punched his arm down against the mattress - _How the fuck should he know if he was in love!?_   He had only said yes to Fiona because he didn’t know what else to say.  It wasn’t that he _wasn’t_ in love… maybe.  It was just… _fuck!_   How was he supposed to know?  He’d never even allowed himself to have a crush on someone before, but then that red headed idiot came along and he skipped right past crushing to … he didn’t know.

As if telling Fiona he loved Ian wasn’t horrifying enough, when he had gone up the back stairs to get his things from Ian’s room, Ian had been standing there, looking at Mickey silently.  Mickey was sure he had heard what was said in the kitchen.  It would have been easy to reach out to Ian, hold him, and say those words again.  It should have been easy, but instead, Mickey pushed past him, frustrated and angry with the entire discussion of the morning.  He left the house moments later without even saying goodbye. 

How the fuck was he supposed to know if this was love?  If all these shitty, confusing feelings he had caught was what love felt like, it really fucking sucked.

Twenty minutes later, after Mickey was done sulking under his pillow, he finally came out to load the truck with Sheila’s boxes, along with wooden tables and some other items Sheila was planning to sell or trade. By the time she came out, pinning her hat in place, most of the guests had gone, either to the festival or home, wherever that may.  Mickey was still feeling bitter about the way the entire morning had gone, and a part of him wished he was going home too, wherever that may be.

Fiona had called Sheila to let them know Ian had gone ahead to the festival grounds, which also happened to be the barren planting field as well as the Sunday Worship site, so there was no need to stop for him. Mickey got Sheila’s table set up as she unpacked her boxes, then went his way, looking over the crowds of people wandering from booth to booth, to look for Ian. 

He found him, along with the other two Gallagher boys trying to break up what appeared to be a poorly orchestrated fist fight between two drunk old fools, one being their father, Frank Gallagher.  The other man looked a lot like Ian – tall, red hair, and freckled, but at last thirty years his senior. 

Mickey walked up to the chaos slowly, amused by the scuffle and drunk slurs being thrown around. He didn’t get involved, but by the way every other person in the crown hardly gave them a second look, he decided this must just be par for the course. 

It wasn’t until Ian took a punch to his gut and an upper right cut to the jaw from the older red head that Mickey jumped in. He grabbed the man’s shirt and pulling him off Ian in one fell swoop and throwing him to the ground with a fist raised above him.  It came down instantly and solid, with a crack of bone beneath it. 

Mickey lifted his fist again, ready to pummel the guy into the ground. He was seeing red – this asshole had put his hands on Ian, and the rage that filled Mickey was blinding.  Just before he let his fist fly into that bastard’s jaw a second time, Ian was on Mickey, pulling him back. 

“No, Mickey, don’t. It’s not worth it!”

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Mickey screamed, trying to break free of Ian’s grip.

The man on the ground scurried backwards in a spider crawl putting as much distance between him and Mickey as possible. He held up a hand in surrender.  Blood was gushing from his nose that Mickey had most likely broken. 

Ian had both arms gripped like a vice around Mickey’s chest in a barrel hold as Mickey fought to get free, cursing at Ian, desperate to get back at the asshole who had hit his boyfriend. After almost a full minute of futile struggle, Mickey finally settled back into Ian’s grip. He panted, angry eyes burning a hole through the man on the ground.

“I’m good, I’m good! Fuckin’ let me go.” He barked at Ian.

Ian loosened his grip but didn’t let go.  He took a few slow steps back, holding on to Mickey, as Mickey’s hands came up and rested on Ian’s arms, not giving any effort to pull himself free.  He let Ian’s hold calm him. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Mickey finally asked.

Frank was rolling off the ground where he’s recently taken his beating and answered first.

“You know, just a little family dispute.”  He swatted away fresh dirt from his already soiled clothes as if to clean them. “My _loving brother,_ Clayton, thought he might pay me a friendly visit and try to steal my empire from me.”  he exclaimed, holding his arms out wide as if to indicate everything he purveyed was his empire.

“Shut up, Frank!” Lip and Ian called in unison. 

Clayton stood and began dusting himself off, wiping fresh blood from his lip, glowering at Mickey.

“Is that anyway to speak to your loving father, after I’ve fed you and clothed you, giving you means to everything good in life?  Is that how you thank me?”

“Just get the fuck out of here, Frank. I thought Fiona told you not to come today.”

“She did.  I assumed she just didn’t want to share the spotlight with the true star of Gallway,” He pointed to himself. 

Lip and Carl pushed Frank off in a new direction leaving Clayton standing alone and abandoned.

“What the fuck ever.  Come on, Mick.”  Ian said, finally let him loose.

Ian had heard all he wanted, no longer caring if the two drunk old fools killed themselves if that’s what they decided to do.  He reached instinctively for Mickey’s hand.  Instinctively, Mickey pulled it back, again looking at the crowd of people all around.  He had caught Clayton’s hateful glare when Ian tried to hold his hand.

Mickey marched away angrily, rubbing at the knuckles on the hand he’d just punched the drunk red head with.  Ian following quickly behind. 

“What was that about, Gallagher?”

“My Uncle Clayton,” Ian said, walking at a racing pace to keep up with Mickey’s shorter legs. “Not even sure what he’s doing here.  He lives out in Arizona, but showed up at the house this morning after you left, screaming about his stolen inheritance.”

Mickey stopped so suddenly that Ian ran into him, nearly knocking him over.

“Why the fuck am I not surprised that there’s still more secrets to the Gallagher story?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it to you, didn’t I, so not a secret?”

Mickey walked on again, “Splitting fucking hairs, Gallagher.”

“Ok, well, can we maybe just not talk about that right now?  Just, hold up, Mickey… wait…” He ran to stand in front of Mickey, “Stop a minute!  Jesus Christ, you’re like 4 feet tall and I can’t keep up with you!”

Mickey shoved Ian angrily in his chest, knocking him off balance.

“Stop with the fucking short jokes, asshole. I’m as tall as your fucking brothers!”

Ian shook his head bewildered.

“I’m, uh… sorry, I’m sorry, Mick.  I was kidding.  Are you ok?  Do you want to talk about something?”

Mickey bit his lip, searching the crowd and ignoring Ian’s question.  No, he wasn’t ok.  He was fucking scared to death that he was putting Ian’s life at risk because of the bullshit haunting him from Chicago. He was fucking scared of those words that left his mouth just hours before, not knowing what they even meant, or if they were true.  He was fucking angry for not being able to control either one of those things, and all of it seemed to be this fucking red head’s fault at the moment.  But there was Ian, waiting, patiently as he was wont to do.

Mickey resigned himself to just lay it on the line and tell Ian what had him so riled up, and would have gotten so far if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Ian.  Hi.”

Ian and Mickey turned simultaneously to a man about their age, dark brown curly hair with a smug ass smile aimed straight at Ian. Mickey wanted to wipe it off his face.

“Trevor.  Wh – what are you doing here?”

Mickey let out a laugh and rolled his eyes.

“Unfuckingbelievable.  I’ll catch you later, Gallagher.  Fuck this.”

He walked away before Ian could protest, and would have kept walking back toward town except Fiona grabbed him by the arm as he went past.  She had been watching him from the moment he helped unload Sheila all the way to the moment Trevor interrupted what appeared to already be a heated conversation between him and Ian. 

While Fiona wasn’t one to meddle – ok, she was one to meddle… and often – she was definitely acutely aware of everything that had happened that morning, leading to this moment.  She knew Mickey was feeling overwhelmed and probably even frustrated, and she felt a sense of responsibility to keep things from derailing completely.

“Mickey!  Can you come over and help me out with something?”

It was another one of Fiona’s savior missions.  She pulled him over to a truck filled with bales of hay and asked him to help the guys unload them – makeshift seating and tables for the festival. 

Mickey tossed bales from the truck, burning through the angry energy that had been building up in him all morning, but it only seemed to be replaced double every time he looked over to see the smug asshole standing inches away from Ian.  First Ian’s eyes darted to and from Mickey, then he seemed to be upset with the curly haired asshole and possibly arguing.  After a while their conversation calmed down a bit, but Ian’s eyes stayed on his own feet, never coming up to meet Mickey’s. 

He tossed those bales for several minutes, moving them all around wherever Fiona pointed, and moving them again when she said it wasn’t right the first time.  The entire time Ian stood there talking to _Trevor._   Fucking motherfucker asshole goddamn son of a bitch Trevor!

Mickey tossed a bale three feet to the left of its original position on Fiona’s command, then looked up just in time to see Trevor step up and pull Ian in to kiss his...

_POW!_

In a million years, Mickey would never be able to explain how he cleared the 50 feet between them, but before Trevor’s mouth could leave a hint of breath on Ian’s skin, Mickey had grabbed a handful of his curly brown hair and turned his head into a solid head butt, leaving Trevor stumbling, bleeding, then falling to the ground.

Ian wasn’t fast enough to pull Mickey off this time, and he landed another three fast blows to Trevor’s head, left right left. 

“I will rip your fucking tongue from your mouth, motherfucker!”

All the Gallaghers were on him, pulling him back as he swung for Trevor then swung at them for being traitors.  He was raging and screaming profanities, with dozens of people gathering around now, unlike before when the fight was just two drunk old men.

“Mickey!  Mick!   Get off!” 

It was Ian’s voice, and it only spurred Mickey’s rage more to know that he was trying to save this Trevor asshole! 

“Jesus Christ!  How the fuck are you so strong!”  Ian said, trying to wrestle him to the ground.

Mickey got in two solid kicks with his boot before Ian rolled backwards onto the ground, still holding onto to Mickey as he struggled in his arms.  The fight quickly changed from Trevor and Mickey to Ian and Mickey as Mickey began jabbing Ian in the ribs with his elbows and fighting him.

They continued wrestling and fighting on the ground as Fiona turned on the crowd.

“All right, that’s enough!  Show’s over, folks!  Not the first fight we’ve ever witnessed, let’s get back to having some fun.” 

The crowd lightened up as the boys continued to fight with nearly the same fervor they had in the beginning. 

“You! Go, now!”  She yelled at Trevor.  He was up and headed for the parking area before she had to tell him twice.

“Lip!  Get your ass over here and help me!”  Fiona called. “I swear to god if one of you punches me, I will break every bone in your body!” She said as she reached into the maul and tried to pull Mickey and Ian apart. 

They must of both heard her, because miraculously neither of them had been dumb enough to let their blows land on her.  Lip took a misguided punch to the jaw before they finally relented, but the truth was that Mickey might have punched him on purpose, just wanting to get it out of his systems.

“Jesus Christ, Ian!”  Fiona yelled as she straightened her clothes again.

“What the fuck did I do!?  I was trying to break things up!”  Ian cried out, pointing at Mickey as if to pass the blame.

Fiona got up in Ian’s face as Mickey stood nearby wiping dirt from his clothes, breathing heavily.  He could probably use this moment to escape, but he had a feeling his lecture was coming next, and Fiona didn’t hit him as the kind of person who would take kindly to him running off before she had a chance to ream his ass for fighting.

“Why was he here?” She said accusingly, pointing after Trevor was long gone by then.

“I. Don’t. Know.  He said he stayed here last night, Fiona! He was apparently at the Speakeasy looking for me, and stayed in one of the cabins.  So, _you_ tell me – why the fuck did _you_ rent him a cabin?”

She took a step back and thought for minute.  Shit, did she actually rent a room to him and not even recognize him? 

“I – I – don’t remember doing that, to be honest.  But you can’t blame me, Ian.  I’ve been running my ass off around here trying to get things ready for this weekend.”

“Yeah, well don’t blame me either.” 

The argument between them quickly began to diffuse and Mickey took it as his opportunity to leave, heading straight for the road.

“Oh no!  No, fuck that.  You get over here!”  Ian caught Mickey by the shoulder of his jacket and began pulling him hard toward the tree line.  “You are not fucking running away until we talk.”


	46. Reversal of Fortune

Ian used his giant Sasquatch strength, pulling Mickey practically sideways past the booths and people, and headed straight for the trees.  Mickey had no intentions of going there with him.  He was done!  He was fed up with the bullshit of the day – family secrets, ex boyfriends, sentimental confessions he didn’t even understand himself – all he wanted was space, right fucking now, and there was no way he was in the mood to fucking talk, not now and maybe never again! 

He grabbed Ian’s arm, trying to pry it from his jacket collar without success.

“Let me fucking go!”

“NO!”  Ian kept pulling him, the trees now less than 20 feet away.  “Get your ass over here!”

Mickey dug his heels into the dirt, aiding his halt for only a second before he was pulled off balance and stumbled forward into Ian’s tow again.  He unzipped the bottom of his jacket and slipped his arm out, spinning around to let the other slide as well until he was free from Ian’s grip.

“AH-HA!”  He cried out victoriously, holding both middle fingers up at Ian. 

Ian turned his glare on him.  They stood comically for a minute, huffing deep breaths as Mickey continued to flip him off and Ian stood with that stubborn jaw.  He held Mickey’s jacket out at arm’s length as if he expected him to walk up and take it, then he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, daring Mickey not to. 

Mickey expected Ian to charge him and had set his stance ready to take the blow if he came at him, but instead, Ian surprised him and turned back toward the trees and continued marching with Mickey’s jacket in tow.  He dragged it along by one arm through the dirt as he went.

Mickey dropped both hands and waited for Ian to yell back at him …or something, but Ian just kept walking.  That asshole just kept going!  Mickey took off after him, not in a full run, because fuck him if Ian thought for one second that Mickey would chase him… but fast enough. 

“Stop dragging my fucking jacket before you ruin it, shit head!” He yelled at Ian. 

Ian dropped the coat from his grip, leaving it in the dirt, and kept marching on without a glance back.  Even though the air was still brisk, brimming on cold, Mickey left the jacket laying in the dead grass and kept in hot pursuit of Ian.

They continued walking another hundred yards into the trees, neither of them saying a word, with Mickey now only about five feet behind Ian. He struggled to keep up now that the walk had turned into a hike.  Mickey stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and mouth falling open in shock, when Ian came to a sudden stop at a tall, leafless aspen and started growling angrily and shaking one of its giant branches, making the entire tree shake violently.

 _“FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”_ Ian screamed, as he kicked the base of the trunk and swung out angrily at several of the smaller branches around him.  “ _What the fuck, Mickey_!?”

He spun to see the look on Mickey’s face, realizing how crazy he must have just looked fighting with a tree.  He shook it off, pacing back and forth, still trying to calm himself enough to look at Mickey again. 

“What the fuck was that about!?  You didn’t have to hit him?  I had it under control!”

That was it!  It ignited Mickey’s anger all over again.

“Oh, you had that under control?  So then, you fucking _wanted_ him to stick his fucking tongue down your throat? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“N-no… No, I didn’t want that.”  Ian shot back sternly. “I didn’t expect him to do that, ok?  I, just… fuck!  Did you have to hit him?”

“Yeah, I had to fucking hit him!  I’ll fucking kill him if he gets near you again, you understand me?”

He was puffed up with rage, and pacing now, his fists clenched at his side as he yelled back at Ian.   Mickey had a strong urge to fight a tree himself right then. 

“You got a fucking problem with that?  Hmmm?”  

Ian’s blood suddenly cooled a bit as he watched Mickey’s jealousy and rage boil over in front of him.

“No.” He said just a hint more calmly.  “No, I don’t have a fucking problem with that.” 

Mickey’s steps were quick, “Damn right, you don’t.” 

He pulled Ian into him, their mouths clashed in a heated kiss as he pushed Ian’s jacket from his shoulders.  They both grabbed and pulled at each other, fighting for dominance as their anger still bubbled between then. Ian shoved Mickey off of him, the heat of the argument still not settled, not only over Mickey’s attack of Trevor, but his general bad mood since Ian had seen him last at the Gallagher house. 

“Fuck, Mickey! You think you can just come in here and beat the shit out of everyone who talks to me?” 

“Nah, I just thought you’d be down for me since the whole reason I kicked that bitch’s ass was for going after you in the first place.”

“I didn’t fucking know he was gonna do that!  And what the hell is eating your ass anyway?  Don’t fucking lie – you came here itching to find a fight, and you found one.”

Mickey, lost for an answer shot his middle finger up at Ian in response.

“Oh, cat got your fucking tongue now? You had plenty to say last night, and I listened – and believe me, that shit wasn’t easy to hear. But now! Now you have nothing.”

“Fuck you!  Fuck that pussy ass bitch hairy asshole too!”

Ian took a quick step forward, hoping to just grab Mickey to show him once and for all who the only man he wanted was, but Mickey pushed him back hard.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Ian barked.  “I’m serious. One minute your hot, the next you’re cold. I never know whether or not you’re staying or going, Mickey. This isn’t how it works!”

Mickey looked around at the hidden space in the forest that Ian had practically dragged him into.  He thumbed at his nose then his eyes fell back on Ian briefly before looking away again.  How the fuck was he supposed to know how this worked?  He’d never been anyplace close to doing this before.  He bit at his lip and glanced back at Ian, the anger still bubbling just at the surface.

“Then how the fuck does it work?  What?  I’m just supposed to be ok with some asshole putting his hands all over you while I stand by and watch?” Mickey challenged, running a thumb across his lip where he could feel the warmth of blood where Ian had landed a punch. 

Ian moved from foot to foot, looking around him for answers, then back at Mickey.  He was realizing for the first time that this hot headed, ask questions later, jealous man who was ready to kick anyone’s ass that came between them was simply and unapologetically who Mickey was.  Mickey hadn’t tried to sugar coat that.  He’d been clear with Ian that he didn’t do relationships, and Ian had witnessed first hand the fear and hesitation at every single turn with him.  He knew that loving Mickey meant time and patience.

“Hmmm?”  Mickey hummed, biting his lip as he waited for Ian to answer.

Ian was on him again, pushing Mickey back hard into the wide trunk of the aspen, sucking and biting at his mouth, desperate to let go of the anger still between them.

Mickey broke the kiss, reaching for Ian’s belt, “If you want someone else, then tell me goodbye.”

Ian shoved Mickey back into the tree again.  He saw the smug fucking smile Mickey had on his face knowing Ian couldn’t tell him goodbye.  Fuck Mickey Milkovich and his arrogant _I Own Your Fucking Ass_ attitude.  Fuck him!  Even if Ian knew it was true.

“What?”  Mickey waited, knowing damn well what the answer was. 

Ian reached down and pulled his belt loose in one smooth strip.

“Mmhmm…” Mickey nodded as Ian reached over his shoulder to pull his shirt free from his body.  He pushed Mickey around by one shoulder, turning him to face the tree as Mickey unbuttoned his own pants, pushing them down his ass.

Ian moved into him, his touch halfway between gentle and demanding as his fingers reached to caress the side of Mickey’s neck, then he leaned in to bite and kiss the skin below Mickey’s ear.  Mickey practically rolled into his touch, eyes closed, lip in teeth, drinking in the much needed caress.   Mickey reached back, spreading his legs and pulling at Ian’s bare ass to bring him closer.  Their movement’s heated and desperate.  Mickey gripped the large branch in front of him that Ian had attacked when they first arrived, and Ian reaching forward to thread his fingers around Mickey’s as he lay his bare chest to cover Mickey’s body.

Ian spit into his other hand then reached to open Mickey up, working quickly, needing to be in him, feel him move beneath him.

“Fuck…” Mickey moved back into Ian’s touch, not wanting to wait. “I’m good, just get the fuck on me already.”

Ian wet himself with a handful of spit, then pressed the tip of his dick against Mickey’s hole, wanting to be gentle, knowing he hadn’t stretched Mickey as much as he should have, but Mickey wasn’t having it.  The second Ian pressed past the tight ring of muscles, Mickey pushed back hard onto him, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from both men.  Ian knew Mickey needed to feel this exactly the same way he did, raw and hard, and so he gave it to him, making Mickey grasp at the tree limps desperately with each thrust.

The forest was filled with the aches and moans and groans and sounds of skin slapping skin as they both released any anger they were holding onto into the mountain around them.  It was over faster than either of them had wanted, but neither of them able to wait a second longer by the time Ian whispered those magic words into Mickey’s ear, as he always did, “come for me…” Mickey had screamed out into the woods as Ian slammed into him again and again, riding them hard past their orgasms, then finally and at last pressing hard into him as they both came to rest against each other up against the soft bark of the tree.  Their breaths heavy, exhausted, Mickey’s eyes closed as he rested his head against the tree, Ian’s mouth open, leaving heavy breaths on Mickey’s temple.

“I fucking love you, Mickey.” He whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair. 

He wrapped his arms around Mickey as he slipped from inside of him.

“I love you.”  He said again, as he held Mickey closer, feeling Mickey’s arms come to hold his own as they continued to lean into the tree. 

“I love you.” He whispered again, leaving kisses along Mickey’s face, needing to say those words again and again, so that Mickey would feel them deep within. 

“Do you hear me,” the words whispered at Mickey’s ear, “I love you, Mickey.”

Mickey nodded once, his lips curling slightly up as Ian continued to whisper the words in his ear again.  His breathing lighter as they stood there, bound together in the forest, letting the mountain heal them.

***

The day was not lost after all.  They drank cider, challenged Lip and Carl in shooting contests, ate more food than Mickey could ever remember eating in a single day of his life, and laughed more than he’d ever remembered either.  The sun was slowly falling behind the mountain with most of the booths and tables already down for the day as Mickey and Ian leaned against one of the hay bales licking their fingers from the chicken Fiona had brought them.

“Can I read your fortune for you?”

Mickey spun his head around to see who had spoken.  There stood an ancient, black woman standing beside him. Her skin looked like soft, worn leather from age, but hardly a wrinkle on her face when she smiled. She held a deck of cards out toward Mickey.

“Can you what?” he asked, mindful to leave all the what-the-fucks and no-fucking-ways out of his response, even though they were the first words that formed in his head.

“You fortune.  I can read your tarot cards or tea leaves. Or maybe read your palm, and tell you if Chicago will win the world series.”

She was joking, but her reference to Chicago sent a chill through Mickey’s skin as if she had picked that on purpose.  She had, but there was no point in telling him. 

“The series ended three weeks ago.” 

He furrowed his brows at her suspiciously and she gave him an equally mischievous look in return, then gave him a friendly knowing smile as if she knew all of his secrets.

“Mickey, this is Mrs. Barto… I’m sorry…” Ian corrected himself as he did a slight bow in Mrs. Barton’s direction, “I meant to say, this is The Magnificent Lady Fortune.  She’s a visionary, and can read your future.  You wanna try it?  Could be fun.” 

Ian smiled at him, warm and friendly smile like a salesman trying to sell him snake oil, which might have been more believable at the moment.  The last thing Mickey was interested in was having some old lady read his palm – his sister was spot on and always seemed to find things there that Mickey found fascinating, but his sister also knew him.  She was probably just making shit up from what she already knew.

“Come on, Mickey.  It’ll be fun. What’s wrong with a little fun?” Mickey tilted his head at Ian and rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”  He grumbled. The old woman was still holding the deck of cards out to him, so he stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans, “Ok, how does this work exactly?”

“You take these,” she handed her deck of cards to Mickey, “Shuffle as many times as you like and when you’re ready, you set them down right there and we’ll get started.”

Ian pulled himself to sit on the bale of hay as Mickey shuffled, then set the deck in front of _The Magnificent Lady Fortune_.  She folded over the first card, depicting an upside down picture of a wheel, with a Pharoah near the top and two creatures crawling around the wheel.

“I think you got it upside down.” Mickey said as he reached to turn the card, earning a slap of his hand from Lady Fortune.  “ouch!”

“It’s not upside down.  The cards tell us what we need by the direction they are turned when we read them.” She explained.  “This is the wheel of fortune. You seem to be having a reversal in fortune, my friend.  You are living your life in contrast to what you’ve been used to not so long ago.” 

She looked at him again with that knowing look, making him catch his breath just a bit.  He was definitely living the exact opposite life he had been used to – now being hunted, where once he was the hunter.  Now feeling vulnerable and often lost, where once he had always felt as if he controlled every aspect of the streets and his life.  He was indeed living a reversal of fortune as she put it.

“Whether it is good or bad is yet to be determined.  This is a card of fate – so regardless – you are exactly where you are supposed to be right now.”

She turned another card, crossing it over the first card.  It was a picture of two lovers standing hand in hand, with a white barked tree growing up between them.  Ian snickered when he saw the card, reminded of the time they had spent in the woods earlier that morning.  Lady Fortune looked up at him, then back to Mickey, then once more at Ian. 

Mickey could feel the heat rising up his neck as he looked at the two naked lovers on the card, feeling exposed in a way he could never seem to get used to.  Even here, in Gallway, where no one seemed to blink twice at him and Ian standing too close to each other or holding hands, it was still a struggle when it came unexpectedly like this.

“This card…”  she studied his nervous look, trying to decide how to proceed. “Ian, darling, can you please go get me a hot cider?  My throat is so dry I can hardly speak.” She said at last.

Ian didn’t wanted to leave – he wanted to tell her he would go in a minute, but it was clear by the look she was giving him that it wasn’t a request as much as a demand.  Ian excused himself regretfully, looking at Mickey’s panicked face as he walked away.

“Ok.”  She took a seat on the bale of hay where the cards sat.  “Come sit with me a minute.”  She pushed his cards aside, making space for Mickey to sit, though he did hesitantly.

“This has been quite a journey for you, hasn’t it?”  

The question was mostly rhetorical.  She took Mickey’s hand into both of hers, holding it soothingly like he imagined a mother might do.  He glanced around.  The grounds were dark now, save the large circle of light emanating from the bonfire where everyone sat engaged in their own conversations.  He was so focused on seeking out Ian in the dark that he hadn’t even noticed the way she had turned his hand over inside of her own. She was running her fingers along the lines of his hands, just as Mandy had done a dozen or more times.

“I’ve known Ian since he was born.  I knew his mother, and his grandmother.  I watched him grow into the magnificent man he is today.  I’ve never seen him quiet as happy as I have since you’ve been here though.”

Mickey turned his head quickly to meet her eyes.

“Oh yes, I’ve seen the two of you together in town.  I run the little consignment shop near the diner you go to – the one with the rooster painted on the window.” 

Mickey remembered seeing the shop but it always looked closed. He had no idea what kind of shop it was.

“I think your second card is as obvious to you as it was to me.” She said, curling Mickey’s hand into a ball and wrapping both of hers around it.  “Whatever it was that brought you here was not what you had expected, or possibly even wanted in life, but here you are.  Finding new roots, growing into something new, just like the tree on the card I just turned.” 

Mickey wanted to protest, but she hadn’t said anything he disagreed with. 

“And now, you’ve found yourself in love, and scared.”

He pulled his hand from hers and stood, taking a step away as if she had been a snake threatening him.

“It’s ok.  It’s ok to be scared.”

“I’m not fucking scared.” He stated firmly, looking around again for Ian as he wrung his hands together in the cold. 

“Would you like me to finish, or would you like to stop now?”  She asked him politely, seeing his discomfort. 

Mickey’s eyes fell on Ian.  He was standing at the other end of the fire, talking to one of the men from the mine, laughing and holding the cup of hot cider he had brought back for Lady Fortune, but not making any effort to interrupt her and Mickey.

Mickey bit his lip and looked back at her. 

“I’m not scared.”  Mickey said again, trying to convince himself more than her. 

She reached her hand back out to him and he walked to her warily.  He sat again, her hand spreading his palm as she gave him a warm smile. 

“You have the same lines that Ian has, here… and here.” 

She ran her fingers across the same lines he had shown Ian back at the cabin – the heart and the marriage lines. 

“Your second card tells me that you have found something very special here, in Gallway, something that ( _She avoided saying “scares”_ ) surprises you.  And you are creating a bond here that cannot be broken. I believe it is with that young man.” She glanced up toward Ian.

Mickey held every urge to pull his hand from her again, taking a deep breath in and holding it as he tried to just hear her words over the panic that seemed to be screaming in his head.

“I’ve only seen it once or twice before,” She ran her hand over his Heart line again, “and perhaps I’m wrong, but I believe your souls have travelled many lifetimes together.  You’ve lived a thousand lives in a thousand universes.  You are here again to continue that journey… together.” 

Somehow, Mickey knew as well as she knew, she was never wrong.  Ian was just a few feet from them now, walking up with her cider.

“That’s all I have to say for now.” She whispered so only Mickey would hear her, patting his hand as she let him have it back. 

She stood and gathered her cards from the bale, then smiled once again at Mickey before taking the cup Ian was offering her.  She tucked her cards away then reached out to give Ian a hug.

“You have grown into quite the man, Ian.  I’m very proud of you.” She offered unsolicited, making him smile.

“Be gentle with his heart.” She whispered so only Ian could hear her, then pulled back to look him in his eyes, making sure he had heard her.  He had.  He gave her a single nod before she let go of her embrace on him.


	47. The Past Comes Knocking

The music, the women, the booze – they were all plentiful in Glenwood Springs, as were Nitti’s men from both the East and West coast.  The reputation of Terry Milkovich had one of two things going for it – either other men hated him or feared him enough to pretend it was respect.  Muse and Iggy were recognized by more than a few of them.  Sometimes it sparked an argument or a fight – other times it earned them a free drink.  They were enjoying their time in Glenwood either way.

Among the men who recognized them was one of Caffrey’s former agents – John Dontello.  He recognized the two thugs after years of tailing Terry, before Capone had gone away.  Dontello transferred out of the Chicago Division shortly after Capone’s arrest, and had been working cases in Colorado – a hot bed of activity for bootleggers that had yet to be infiltrated.  While Glenwood Springs was at the heart of it, most Feds looked past it – the connections there were still too tight to really get a handle on it to make any arrests.

The real investigation was another outfit – hidden someplace in those Rocky Mountains.  The Feds knew someone was running a large operation, with booze flowing out of the Rocky’s as plentiful as the Big Thompson River itself.  It was Dontello’s job to find the wellspring.  As he sat in his booth, with a girl on his lap, drinking a cold beer, he spotted Terry’s two men doing the same from across the room.

What were they doing in Colorado, he wondered.  Terry’s crew never left their three state radius – there were no such things as vacations for his boys, and Dontello knew all about the trouble back on the streets of Chicago too.   He pushed the girl from his lap, making her grasp at the table to keep from hitting the floor.

“Where’s a phone?  I need a goddamn phone right now.”

She screwed her face up angrily, brushing the tassels of her dress down, then pointed toward the back of the casino.  He disappeared without a second glance back at her.

Caffrey’s line rang and rang, but Dontello didn’t drop the call.  It was the middle of the day, and he knew either Caffrey or his secretary would eventually pick up.

“Lt. Caffrey speaking.”  Caffrey barked into the line.

“Jesus, Lit.  Catch you at a bad time?”

“Who the hell is this?” Caffrey recognized the voice, but his sense of humor was teetering and he had no time for nonsense at the moment.

“This is Dontello – Colorado – You ‘member me, right?” 

Of course he did.  Dontello had been on his team for six years, a trusted member of Caffrey’s team.

“Shit, Donny!  How the hell you been?  Sorry for barkin’ – it’s been one bullshit fire after another out here.”  Suddenly Caffrey lit up, “Colorado?  I forgot you were out there.”

“Gee, nice to know I left a mark back there.”

“Nah, nothing like that.  We just got shit piling up around here, and on top of it, I’m missing two of my fucking agents lately, and wouldn’t you know it – one of them might actually be in your neck of the woods.”

“You don’t say?”  Dontello perked up, ready to hear the juice.

“Yeah, you know Milkovich?  Worked with him on Capone’s case?  I think he might be in Colorado.”

“Funny you should mention him.  I was just sitting here when I saw his brother, the clown – what’s his name?”

“Iggy?”  Caffrey offered.

“Yeah, that’s him.  Iggy Milkovich and Muse – they're out here in my neck of the woods.”

“What the fuck…”  Caffrey knew two of Terry’s men had headed west, but he wasn’t sure which two.  “Well, it gets better.  Mickey’s partner, Sullivan.  He went missing too.  Called in for a few days, then I sent a guy to go check on him but looks like he took off.  His place was locked up tight like no one had been there in a week.”

“You don’t say.  What’s he got to do with any of this?”

Caffrey filled Dontello in on the details he knew for certain – which were almost none.  Colin had been killed after a failed attempt on Mickey’s life.  Mickey was on the run and as far as Caffrey could tell, he was biding his time in Colorado.  Iggy and Muse were likely looking for either him or Hammer (Caffrey still wasn’t sure what their deal was), and finally Sullivan may or may not have had a hand in things – though he was looking more and more guilty every day, but Caffrey had no proof that anything Mickey had told him to this point was the solid truth. The last phone call with him has been brief, just long enough to let Mickey know Sullivan might be headed his way. 

“Sounds like a real shit show, Lit.”

“Tell me about it.  Do me a favor.  You see any movement on those two men, let me know.  I know you got your own investigation going right now, but whatever you got will help me out.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it.  I’m all over these hills – trying to catch myself a world class bootlegger.  Not really getting anywhere with it, so maybe I’ll take a few days to keep an eye on these boys for you – I’ll let you know if there’s a Milkovich reunion or anything like that.

“Sounds good.   Good to hear from you.” Caffrey said before hanging up.

Dontello wasted no time at all putting in another call to his home office.  He had men in several cities looking for leads, and it was easy enough to get eyes out for Mickey or Sullivan as well, if they were in Colorado.

***

A few nights after the fall festival, the stress of that day had worn away, but another call to Caffrey brought a whole new stress to Mickey’s life.  Caffrey told him Sullivan had gone missing – and not the way that Hammer had gone.  They were pretty sure he left town.  There were tell tail signs left at his apartment that led Caffrey to believe he’d gone looking for Mickey once he found out he might still be alive. 

Caffrey filled Mickey in on the details, but Mickey was still hesitant to tell him where he was staying.  An out of character anxiousness seeped through Mickey’s words.  As usual, just as Caffrey began looking for more information, Mickey cut the call short. 

Two of Terry’s men were god knew where – possibly closer than he wanted to believe – and Sullivan was surely on his way as well.   Gallway might be a hidden gem in the mountains, but those gems always have a way of flickering until they are discovered, and Mickey knew his past was about to come knocking.

There wasn’t anything he could do with that information yet though.  He spent the next few days switching between Ian and Carl doing working around town and getting to know more faces, trying to remind himself that for now things were ok.  Busy hands make for a busy mind – or at least he kept telling himself that.

During the evenings Ian snuck back into Mickey’s room – which couldn’t really be considered sneaking since each morning they woke to a tray of two coffees outside the door.  Sheila never questioned when Mickey came out of the room alone and Ian ran around the house, exiting out the back patio door.

On Tuesday evening, Mickey had scoffed at Ian for bringing in extra wood for Sheila as well as the stove in his room before ‘heading home’ for the night.

“Snow’s coming, Mick.  You can smell it in the air.”

Mickey rolled his eyes.  The day had been slightly cooler than previous days, but still much too warm for snow.  When he woke in the morning to howling winds and two feet of snow up against the patio door he realized how wrong he had been.  He curled his naked body up against Ian, pulling Ian’s arm around him then burying them both beneath the blankets.

Ian wrapped his legs around Mickey, drawing him in closer and smiled in his half sleep state.  It made him happy every single time to think that his badass, thuggish, too-tough-to-be-a-boring-Fed boyfriend liked to roll up inside of his arms as the little spoon.  He didn’t dare say that to Mickey though. Not unless he wanted to start his day by getting his ass kicked.

“Hi baby, you doin’ ok?” Ian mumbled into Mickey’s ear.

“Stop calling me that, ‘M not your fuckin’ baby.” Mickey complained as he reached for Ian’s thigh, pulling it around himself even more snuggly to ward off the freezing cold air of the room.

Ian licked his earlobe, pulling it into his teeth in a gentle bite, then moving down Mickey’s neck as Mickey unfolded a bit beneath him.

“Yeah you are, Mick.” He said, kissing his boyfriend, turning him in his arms to face him. “You definitely are.” 

Mickey laughed at Ian’s insistence.

“Fuck you.”

He pulled Ian into him hard, grinding into his thighs. Things were heating up quickly under the blankets before they were rudely interrupted by a not so gentle pounding at the door.  Both of them being so caught up in the moment that they had missed Sheila’s protests as Lip came down the hall, opening the door still in mid knock, catching Ian grinding himself on top of Mickey as they kissed.

“Christ!”  Lip waved his hand in front of him, “Do you two ever fucking stop?”

Ian fell back onto his pillow as Mickey flipped Lip off.

“Why the hell are you just walking into the room if you don’t want to see this?” Ian complained, running both hands frustratingly over his face.  “What are you doing here, Lip?”

“Time to get to work asshole.  Snow’s got the roads closed.  We need to get them opened up, now.  So, stop fucking around and get dressed.”

Ian let out a guttural growl, knowing Lip was right.  The roads wouldn’t wait, and the plow attachments were made to fit their trucks.

“Bring your boyfriend if you want.  We could use an extra hand today.  Might snow for a couple more hours.” 

Lip walked out of the room leaving the door wide open to ensure the two men couldn’t get back to what they had been doing.  He continued to talk about how him and Carl had been at it since five in the morning, so Ian should count himself lucky to have slept in.

Ian pushed the blankets off of him, exposing his naked body to the cold of the room essentially killing anything that had been left of his morning wood.

“Let’s fucking move where it doesn’t snow.”  He said the words lightheartedly, not realizing their implication. 

Mickey sat up and began searching for clothes as he reached over to push the bedroom door closed again. 

“I thought you wanted us to move to the cabin.” He said daringly.

Ian halted what he had been doing and turned to Mickey.  Both of them looking soberly at the other, taking in what had been said, when the pounding on the door started again.

“Don’t make me fucking open this door again, Ian!  Let’s go!”

“I fucking hate him sometimes.”  Ian said, going back to what he had been doing seconds before, and pulling his clothes on. 

“I can have him arrested and thrown in the can for a few decades if you want?  I hear he’s into some illegal shit up in the hills.”  Ian and him both laughed as they continued to dress.

“Better not.  Then you and I would be stuck doing all the dirty work up in those hills, Mick.”  He grabbed his boots and kissed Mickey on top of his head as he left the room, “I’ll meet you out front.”

***

The rest of the week went by like cookie cutter days – they plowed the snow that didn’t seem to every stop coming down for three days straight, stopping only long enough to change into dry clothes, warm up, eat up, and get back out there.  Ian swore that the snow only came like this once in a while, but Carl said he was lying.  He said the snow came in heavy like this all winter long, but on the days that it stopped it would melt away quickly in the sun as if it had never come at all.  Mickey wasn’t sure who to believe as he shoveled for hours along the main street businesses, accepting hot coffees and cocoas from the shop proprietors, along with an occasional slice of hot pie or a sandwich to keep him going.

He didn’t hate it. He was sore and tired after the first day, and cursed at Ian for working him to the bone, but the truth was he didn’t hate anything about any of it.  This entire life was different than anything he had ever done in his life, and he was relishing in it.  

“It’s not like you’ve never shoveled snow before, Mick.  You’re from Chicago.”  Ian had retorted.

“Chicago doesn’t get snow like this.  I mean, it’s fucking ridiculously cold there, but usually too cold to snow this much.  This place … it’s freaky weird – never stops snowing and yet most of the time I’m burning up with too many clothes feeling like I just need to rip these shirts off, but then when I do, I freeze my fucking balls off.”

He’d seen Ian doing that – stripping down to just his jeans, an undershirt and a pair of gloves while they worked, but when Mickey did it the cold hit him like a freight train and he quickly bundled up again.  There was no in between – freezing or dying of heat stroke as they worked.  Ian had promised his body would get used to it soon enough, but Mickey wasn’t sure that was true either. 

When they were done working each day, Ian went home for a few hours to clean up and change, then he’d sneak back into Mickey’s room through the patio door after Sheila had turned in for the night.  She wasn’t fooled.  The fresh footprints in the snow running toward the back of the house was a dead giveaway.  She gave them the privacy they wanted, and didn’t bring it up, knowing it was more comfortable for Mickey to spend time with Ian at her home than it would be with a house full of Gallaghers.

It was already passed ten at night when Mickey came out of his room to help Sheila lock up. 

“Uh, You think we can talk for a minute?”  He asked warily. 

Sheila didn’t hesitate to stop what she was doing and walk into the dining room to take a seat, patting the table next to her for him to join.  It took him a minute to find his words, and the courage to say them.  They had been sitting with him for several days, since his last talk with Caffrey, and while he knew there was a decision to be made, he needed someone not vested in that decision to hear him out.

“Has Ian mentioned to you what I do… for a living?” He asked. 

By this point, he was pretty sure the entire town knew, either from Lip, Fiona, or Ian.  While this town had many secrets, they shared the vital details widely in an attempt to keep everyone in the know, and safe from the outside world.

“Of course, dear.  You work for the FBI.  I think it’s just amazing.  I’m so proud of you.” She said, reaching out to pat his arm.

Mickey couldn’t help but smile at her.  It was ridiculous how this woman somehow made him slightly crazy on most days, and on other days gave him the warmest motherly feeling ever.  He’d never admit it in a hundred years, but it was his favorite thing about her, aside from the amazing meals she cooked.

“I talked to my boss this week.  Things back home are falling apart – the stuff I was involved with, you know?” She didn’t actually know any of the details, but she nodded anyway.  “He thinks that it’s gonna catch up with me, and even though he says they’ve got it under control, I’m not sure that’s true.  If I stay here…”

They were both quiet as the large grandfather clocked ticked away the seconds and Mickey gathered his thoughts. He knew his past was inevitably on its way to catching up with him.

“I don’t want to bring trouble here.  These are good people.  You all are. And if I stay, things will get bad.”

“Fiona wouldn’t let that happen, Mickey.” She comforted.

“Fiona doesn’t know the half of what could happen if they find me here.  The fucking mo… uh, sorry, I meant the mob is looking for me.  They would bring a whole damn army in if they wanted to.  But, they aren’t even the reason I’m concerned.  The Feds’ll come too.   They’ll come and search, and they’ll find the mines and shut this place down.  They’ll ruin the Gallaghers and everyone connected to them.”

There it was.  Mickey and this widowed house wife sat looking at each other, and there it was – the biggest fear either of them could possibly think of.  

“Have you talked to Ian about this?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I tried, but I don’t want him to worry.   I just…”  He bit at his lip, knowing that no matter what he decided, he would still have to tell Ian all of it.

The lights of Ian’s truck flashed in the window as he made a u-turn on the street.   Sheila patted Mickey’s hand and stood. 

“Finish locking up, would you dear?  I think now is a good time to talk to him.” 

She went up the stairs to her room, closing the door loudly enough to ensure Mickey would hear it, giving him all the privacy she could.

Mickey opened the front door before Ian could run around to the back entrance.  The solemn look on his face led Ian to worry right away.

“We should talk.” Mickey said, leading him to his room.

He closed the door and waited for Ian to have a seat on the bed before he began. It was imperative that he explain this so that Ian would understand the decision to leave Gallway had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with keeping the town’s secrets safe. He said it again and again - it was the only way to keep them safe - but unlike with Sheila, the conversation with Ian didn’t stay calm for long.

Ian was up and pacing, arguing with Mickey that _he_ could keep Mickey safe.  Explaining to him that the town had ways of hiding him.  Their conversation grew angry and frustrated.  They pushed one another away when they should have pulled each other in. Ian’s anger quickly turned on a dime as sorrow would hit him in spurts and he would try to reason with Mickey, begging him to stay.  He made promises to keep Mickey safe, though there was no way to know he could.  Ian told him he didn’t have to do this alone, and offered to leave Gallway with him. 

Each time, Mickey tried new words, doing his best to make Ian understand he was leaving, on his own.  It felt like the conversation went on for hours, their emotions rising and falling from heartbreak to anger to frustration and back to heartbreak.  No matter how Ian begged or bargained or argued, Mickey held his ground.  He was leaving, without Ian.

“I’ll go talk to Jimmy to see if he can take me into Denver.  I can get a new car once I get there. I’ll call my boss when I’m far enough away from here, and figure out what I need to do next”

Ian sat down on the edge of Mickey’s bed, his head resting in his hands as he shook his head ‘no’ over and over.  His glossy eyes were red and tired.  Mickey sat next to him, thigh to thigh, pinching his own eyes between his thumb and forefinger as they both finally conceded the argument silently.  He laid his arm over Ian’s shoulder.

“C’mere.”  Ian rolled into his arms, burying his face into Mickey’s neck as he wrapped into him. 

“Don’t leave.” Ian said desperately, barely audible through his tired, worn voice.  “I can keep you safe.”

“You can’t, Ian.”

He pulled Ian into him, their faces buried intimately into one another as they clung to each other, both of them trying to think of some middle ground solution. 

“Ian, I’ll come back.”  He whispered. “Someday, I promise.”

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his lips into Ian's neck, his cheek, turning Ian's distraught eyes up to his own then kissed him. 

“I love you.” Mickey said, his voice shook with nerves.

Ian looked away. It was the first time Mickey could remember saying those three little words to anyone in his life. They should have been liberating and profoundly moving, but they felt like heartbreak instead.

“Ian, look at me, please.  I love you.”  He repeated, needing Ian to feel it deep inside the same way he had needed it days before, but this felt different.  Ian stayed silent for too long before he spoke.

“You’re leaving.  Everybody always leaves.”


	48. All Fifteen of Them

“Yo, Tony, what the fuck is going on out there?  We just got the shit kicked out of us in Glenwood for one of Brazzi’s men. What the fuck did we miss?”  Muse ran his finger along a newly chipped tooth – _fuck! –_ while he waited for Iggy to finish up in the service bathroom.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about Chicago, bitch.  Where the fuck are you two?  Haven’t heard from you in a week.” 

Tony was standing guard over Terry that afternoon, making sure he didn’t get some wild hair up his ass and go out for a ride.  The last time he did that, one of Brazzi’s men opened fire on his car.  It hadn’t been a fucking mistake either.  He stood eye to eye with Terry before pulling out his gun, but thank god both Tony and Tomenko had been there when it went down.  Neither stuck around long enough to figure out whose bullet too the guy down – they just made sure he was down before Terry took a bullet.

“Out here in bumfuck Colorado – where you told us to stay. Tryin’ to lay low since we seem to have a fuckin’ target on our back everywhere we go.”  Iggy walked out of the bathroom, zipping up his pants as Muse waived him over.  “Just staying out of sight until you tell us to come back.”

“The fuck do you mean, staying out of sight?  I sent you there to do a fucking job?  Where the fuck is Hammer?”  Before Muse could answer, Tony barked again, “Put Iggy on the fuckin’ line.”

A phlegmy grunt came through the line as Iggy cleared his throat and spit on the floor before talking, “Yeah.”

“The fuck is going on out there, Ig?  I haven’t heard from you in a fucking week, and now Muse it telling me you’re out in Glenwood living it up.”

Iggy rubbed his bruised ribs, “I’d hardly way we’re living it up. Had to sleep in the fucking car last night after we got our asses handed to us.  You want us back there?”

“No.”  Tony stated.  

He was sure if Ig and Muse were to drive into the Chicago city limits, there would be some asshole waiting to take them out the minute they came into sight.  Terry’s entire crew was on lockdown, and while Nitti hadn’t outright given an order to take them out, his money was still missing.  Tony was positive that until Hammer and that money were returned, Terry’s men would pay the cost, one way or the other. 

“What I want is for you to get your ass in gear and find that fuckhead that took dad’s money.”

“Nitti’s.”  Iggy corrected.

“Huh?”  Tony asked, not sure he’d heard his brother correctly – Iggy wasn’t usually so bold as to correct him on anything and take the chance of getting his ass reamed for it.

“It’s Nitti’s money.  Finding out all sorts of shit while we’re out here.  For instance, that’s not the only money dad’s short.  Seems he’s been falling short for almost a year now – he’s in to Nitti for a whole hell of a lot more than ten grand.  I’m surprised he’s not 6 feet under by now.”

“The fuck did you just say?” Tony hissed. 

Whether he liked what Iggy was saying or not, it was the truth.  Terry had been skimming off the top for more than a year, and if that wasn’t enough, Tony had been taking a small cut himself.  Between the two of them, they were building a debt to Nitti that was unlikely to ever be paid, and it was just a matter of time before Nitti’s patience wore thin.

“Hey, I’m just the messenger, remember?” Iggy dared. “I’m just delivering the fucking news I got delivered to me – only mine came with a broken nose and some bruised ribs.  You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Before Tony had a chance to lay into him, he added, “We’re in Boulder right now, in case you fucking give a shit.  Still looking for Hammer.  Heard about a place up the mountain from some guy in Glenwood – some little shit stain town where the liquor is good and hiding is easy.   Gonna see if we can find it.  In the meantime, why don’t you see if Tommy or one of the guys can get their ass to the Boulder Western Union and send us some cash so we don’t fuckin’ starve to death.  I’ll be looking for it tomorrow – otherwise we’re headed back.”

Iggy hung up the line before Tony had a chance to recover from the shock of hearing Iggy take charge of the situation and talk to him so disrespectfully.  He was sure, back in Chicago, Tony was on a rampage after being hung up on and the men in the house would surely pay for Iggy’s bravado.   He didn’t care.  He was bruised up and tired, and ready to be done with the bullshit.  If this next town didn’t pan out any information on Hammer or give them some idea of where to turn next, he was going back to Chicago, with or without Hammer and Nitti’s money.

***

_Ian’s hair was like fire in the sunlight, his glossy green eyes filled with worry and fear and regret.  He held out an envelope of cash for Mickey._

_Mickey’s heart raced as the familiar panic rose in him, “I don’t want your fucking money.  I want you to get in the fuckin’-“_

“Mickey… Mick!  Wake up!  Hey… wake up, it’s just a dream.”

Mickey jolted in Ian’s arms as he tried to sit upright.  The morning sun was too bright as it glared off mounds of fresh white snow outside.  Ian was leaning on one elbow beside him, still holding his other arm across Mickey’s chest to ground him.

“Shit…”  Mickey muttered, rubbing his eyes and looking around again, trying to find his bearings.

It was a dream.  Just a dream… but it had felt so real.  Ian had been there, trying to say goodbye – and Mickey…

He finally looked up at Ian who was looking back at him concerned.

“You ok?  It was just a dream.”  Ian reassured him.

“It felt so fucking real.” Mickey said, finally sitting up.  “I was leaving… and you wouldn’t come with me.” 

He said the words without thinking.  Ian looked at him confused. 

“Mick, you said I couldn’t go.  I told you I would go, but you said no.”

Mickey scrubbed his hands on his face, then shook the dream away.

“Nah, never mind.  I’m just confused, you know.  Weird fuckin’ dream, that’s all.”

He knew he had told Ian he couldn’t go with him, but … in the dream he seemed to be begging Ian to go.

“Yeah, ok.”  Ian resolved. “Snow stopped.”

“Thank fuck. I’m fucking sick of shoveling.”  Mickey said, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and searching for his pants.

By the time both Ian and Mickey were dressed and joining Sheila for breakfast, any trace of snow that had been on the streets and sidewalks the night before had already melted away, leaving behind only the long contrails of steam rising into the air.

Mickey looked out the window in wonder, now finally understanding what Carl had meant when the said the snow would disappear quickly as if it had never been there at all.   By the time noon rolled around, there was only inches of snow left on the grassy areas, where just two days ago it had been measured in feet. 

Ian was dressed in little more than his regular clothes and a thick scarf Sheila had made him the Christmas before, but Mickey still looked like he was dressed for a blizzard.  He had reasoned that if he could see his breath, then he needed to be bundled up, however, before they pulled into the parking space in front of the Outfitter, Mickey had finally conceded and stripped away all but the scarf and gloves.  Being a mile and a half above sea level and closer to the sun made a huge difference.  

Mickey wondered if he would ever get used to this weather.   He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to come back to see a full winter in Gallway now that he was preparing to leave.

Jimmy and Fiona were in the story having coffee when the men walked through the door.  It wasn’t lost on Mickey how close Jimmy and Fiona usually were, but this morning they were laughing and giggling quietly as they spoke, practically hanging off of one another.

“Mornin!”  She smiled, “There’s some hot coffee if you want some.”

“Actually, we wanted to talk to Jimmy to find out when Mickey’s truck was going to be fixed.”

Fiona’s eyes went straight to their hands, clenched tightly around each other – ok, so it seemed they weren’t fighting, and Mickey wasn’t in flight mode – so that was good.

“I, uh, well…” Jimmy stumbled over his words.

He looking at Fiona for some guidance. After all, it was because of her that Mickey still didn’t have a truck.  The repairs were minor compared to the lie he had told Mickey, but he hadn’t bothered to place the order for parts because Fiona had given strict orders not to let Mickey leave.

“All right, wise guy, no need to act dumb here.  I already know you haven’t been working on my truck on fucking purpose.”  Mickey looked from Jimmy to Fiona, “And thanks to you, I’ve been stuck in this damn place for a month, but it’s time.”

Ian’s face dropped at the bluntness of his statement.  It was so matter-of-fact.  So final. The sadness and disappointed look he suddenly had wasn’t missed by Fiona or Jimmy.

“Ok, Mickey… You’re right, and I’m sorry.  I might have had a hand in keeping you here, but at the time I thought it was the right thing to do, you know.”

“Fi.” Ian swallowed, taking a minute to compose himself before speaking again, still not looking up at anyone.  “Mick needs to leave.  If the truck can’t be fixed right away, we’ll need to get him back to Denver somehow.” 

Mickey squeezed his finger’s tight around Ian’s.  Ian looked at him, glossy eyed, but smiled, trying to support Mickey’s decision even if he didn’t agree with it. 

“He needs to get back to work.”

 After a bit more talking, it was decided that it made more sense for Jimmy to just drive into town for the parts to fix Mickey’s truck so that he could leave within a few days, possibly Monday at the latest. No more delays, no more excuses.  It was time for Mickey Milkovich to get back to the life he’d known before, filled with cops and mobsters and death threats.  It was either go to them, or they would eventually come to him.  

Ian and Mickey felt a little lighter after talking to Fiona about Mickey’s decision to leave.  Ian had made it clear time and again that it wasn’t _his_ decision, hoping Fiona would take his side and convince Mickey to stay.  She hadn’t.  Instead, she had assured Mickey that they would do all they could to make sure he could come back to Gallway Falls someday, if that’s what he decided to do.  She even suggested that perhaps Ian could go visit him once things were settled down again. 

Mickey wasn’t going to fool himself into believing that would ever happen – these mountains were home to Ian, and Mickey knew he would never be happier anyplace else – but he was still hopeful that someday he might find his way back to Gallway Falls and to Ian.

They left the shop as they had entered, hand in hand, heading toward the diners to get lunch.  With the snow gone from most of the roads now, there was little planned for the day, so they had decided to just enjoy the down time together.  They were not expecting the scene they found when they walked into the diner.

Clayton Gallagher was back, smelling like he’d fallen into a barrel of booze and was just as drunk as could be.  He heard the bell above the door ring as the two men walked in, immediately taking note of their hands as they fell to their sides.  Ian casually laid his hand across Mickey’s shoulder as he guided him to a corner table.

The waitress came rushing over with two coffee mugs and hot pot of coffee, pouring it before either Mickey or Ian could choose anything else.  She was as nervous as could be, keeping an eye over her shoulder on Clayton as he continued to rant.

“What’s going on here?”  Ian asked quietly, nodding toward his drunk uncle.

“He’s been in here for about 15 minutes, screaming about how he went to the Feds and their gonna come and shut this whole place down.  I was about to phone Fiona when you walked in – should I still call her?”

Mickey’s face lit up a little at the mention of the Feds and the waitress’s eyes fell automatically on him, then back to Ian again. Before Ian could answer her, they were interrupted as Clayton pushed one of the metal dining chairs across the tile, creating a painful screech along the floor.

“I remember you.” He hissed, looking at Mickey.  “You’re the little asshole who did this to me!” He pointed at his broken nose, and the two yellowish bruised eyes he still had from the Fall Festival when Mickey laid him flat on his ass.

Mickey avoided looking at him, sipping at his hot coffee and not giving him any more attention than necessary.  If he’d learned one thing while dealing with hot head thugs in Chicago, it was when to keep your mouth shut and when to bring a hammer down on an asshole.   For now, he would stay quiet.

“And YOU!  You’re just another snot nosed thieving Gallagher like the rest of your rabid litter of strays.”

“Clayton, I was born and raised in this town.  It is literally named after my great grandfather – your grandfather – that hardly makes me a stray.”

Ian stood to back Clayton off of their table, hoping to push him toward the door, but Clayton only took a few steps back toward the lunch counter and continued.

“This whole town… _YOU HEAR ME?_   Every last one of you are gonna rot behind bars.  You should all be falling on your knees begging me for mercy right now, because I’ve already made the calls!  I  told the Feds what you have going on up here!   They’re coming!  And when they do, the only person you’ll have left to save you is ME!”  He turned on Ian again, “And YOU… you’ll never see the light of day again without looking through bars.”

He crept up on Ian, keeping Mickey in the corner of his eye. 

“Don’t worry,” he snickered, “I’m sure there will be lots of men who find you just as pretty as that one does.”  Clayton nodded toward Mickey, making Mickey blood boil, not for the suggestion, but for the threat he was making toward Ian. “Plenty of _your_ type to bend you over, and…” He jabbed his finger into Ian’s chest once.  Only once. 

It only took one time before Mickey’s hand came down hard on Clayton’s wrist, knocking it away from Ian as he yanked Clayton four feet toward the door of the diner.

“Those fingers go anywhere near him again, I’ll break every knuckle on your hand!  All fifteen of them.”

“Settle down, rumblefish!”  Clayton wiggled his hand in front of Mickey as if mocking him, “And anyway, a hand only has fourteen knuckles.” He added as he reached for the door.

“You wanna fuckin’ die!?” Mickey threatened as he moved in on him.

Clayton stumbled quickly out the door, tripping out onto the sidewalk to get away from Mickey as quickly as possible.  Mickey stood at the door with a scowl on his face, making sure Clayton was long gone, then held his hand up in front of himself counting off the knuckles silently.  Hmm… fourteen.  Who knew.

When he turned around, everyone in the diner was looking at him, but then quickly turned and pretended to chatter to one another as if they’d seen nothing.  Ian stood there with his dumb puppy dog smile and warm eyes, amused by his over protective boyfriend.  Mickey hadn’t found any humor in the situation yet, so when Ian walked up to pull him in for a kiss Mickey pushed him off hard.

“The fuck?” Mickey said quietly, looking around the diner again in a panic.  This time everyone really was back to their own conversations and not just pretending for his sake.

Ian’s eyes followed Mickey’s as they both took in the townies, their friends, Ian’s family more or less, then back at each other.  Ian was reminded once again, like a punch in the gut, that Mickey needed all things to be done in small strides, and even then, his comfort was likely to wane when he was under pressure.  He nodded toward their table and went back to take a seat, trying not to let Mickey’s apprehension wear on him.

“Come on.  Let’s get some lunch.”  Ian said.

“Yeah, ok.” Mickey’s racing heart settled in his chest once again. 

This time the waitress gave them a minute to look at the menu before coming back. Ian was looking out the window where Clayton had disappeared.  He was clearly worried about what Clayton had said and knew he should be over at the Outfitters talking to Fiona soon.

The waitress walked up with her pad and paper and glanced out the window herself, the same worried look on her face.  Ian decided lunch, then Fiona – the news could wait thirty minutes, and he was almost positive Clayton was just spewing in his drunken rage.   He turned back to Mickey who was sitting there biting his lip as he was wont to do.  He held Ian’s eyes, trying to decide how upset Ian was with him now for pushing him away again.

“You boys ready?”  The waitress asked cautiously, not wanting to disrupt the uncomfortable tension that was oozing out all over their table.

Mickey stood and leaned across the table, putting his hand around Ian’s neck and pulling him in to a kiss.  Ian nearly fell from his chair from surprise, but soon leaned in, then stood a little himself to meet Mickey halfway across the table.  Mickey kissed him as if there wasn’t a single other person in the room with them, all mouth and tongue. He made small comforting circles with his thumb along Ian’s jaw as the pulled away again, keeping their eyes on each other.

“I’m working on it.”  Mickey said softly, making Ian smile.


	49. A Thousand Times Hotter

When Ian had told Mickey that the town had ways of protecting itself, that was no joke.  By Thursday night, there were flashes of lights coming from the mountain tops – the miners, or bootleggers if one had to be technical about it, were in full conversation on Fiona’s orders.  Mickey didn’t know the details nor did he ask, lest he should implicate himself further in the Gallagher’s illegal affairs as a Federal Officer.  

The Gallagher household had been jumping all evening with dozens of people coming and going. This time Fiona didn’t ask Mickey to leave when they began talking business, however he thought it was best if he left the room and spent most of his evening in Fiona’s back office. He took the opportunity to check in with Caffrey. 

As it turned out, one of Caffrey’s men confessed to possibly dropping word that another agent may have had something to do with Mickey’s sudden disappearance in front of Sullivan a while back.  Caffrey had sent this man down to the police station to find out about a missing car Caffrey may have inquired about as well.  The dots were all beginning to have a solid connection, and Caffrey was finally beginning to think Mickey’s theory was solid.

He filled Mickey in on Terry’s crew, running ramped through the streets or dropping like flies as Terry fought to keep control of the situation.  Caffrey thought either one of the Capos or the Feds were sure to close their noose on him sooner than later. 

The one bit of information they didn’t cover was the two men Terry had sent west.  Perhaps it was because Caffrey was taken by surprised by the length of the phone call and was focused too much on Sullivan and Terry himself, but he failed to fill Mickey in on Iggy’s presence in Colorado.  It didn’t matter – Mickey was keenly aware that Terry had men on the hunt… just who they were hunting was the question though.

It seemed to Mickey that all roads were quickly converging into on big heaping pile of shit, someplace not too far from where he was now.  He knew he needed to leave, but he thought he would have more time to figure out his next step.  Now it seemed he was being cornered in with few roads left to escape.

That was the longest conversation Mickey had had with Caffrey since he had left Chicago.  Mickey needed the information, and he knew his boss wasn’t going to give it up easily unless Mickey gave a little in return – a sign of trust.  He told Caffrey he was staying in Denver, which was close enough to the truth.  Mickey decided to ask one more question before letting the call go.

“Hey, listen.  There’s a lot of buzz out here.  Talk about the Feds looking for some kind of bootleg ring either in Colorado or Wyoming,” He threw in Wyoming hoping to throw Caffrey’s suspicion off. 

“I was wondering if you knew anything about that?  Just thought I’d ask, since there seems to be quite a few made men who spend their time out in Glenwood.”

The question was actually one of Fiona’s.  She asked Mickey to fish around for any info he might have, and suggested he throw in mention of Glenwood just to throw off the scent.  Glenwood was hours away, on a completely different mountain pass – far enough from Gallway Falls to keep the heat off the Gallaghers.

Mickey added one more quick comment, “Just overheard it in a coffee shop –wondering if we had any of our guys out here working on it.”

“This vacation starting to grate at your nerves, Milkovich?  Need to get back into the action?”  Caffrey joked.  “I know Glenwood’s been on the radar for a while, but word is there may be a bigger fish to fry up in those mountains – some high end operation shipping all over the country.  But if you ask me, trying to find something like that in those Rocky Mountains is like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Mickey answered.  “Let me know if you hear anything.  I mean, hell, I’m fucking rotting away in a hotel room.  I might as well do some work while I sit here and wait for this mess to catch up to me.”

“Will do.   Call me tomorrow.  I’ll see if there are any updates on Sullivan as well.”

Mickey hung up the line and leaned his head back on the chair, closing his eyes and listening to the muffled voices coming from the kitchen. He had crossed a line asking Caffrey about whether or not there was an active investigation going on any bootleggers in Colorado, but he had to know if Ian was in any real danger of being busted.  If he was, Mickey was determined to convince Ian to leave with him – they could just run.  Leave the Feds and the booze and the gangsters behind.  Mickey had enough money.  They could head south, across the border, live on a beach someplace in Mexico and drink all day without anyone asking them any questions.  No more secrets.

“Hey, Mick.  You ok?”  Mickey had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard Ian open the door.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes, feigning tired.

“Yeah, just … long day, you know?” 

“Looks like Fiona’s gonna end up with a house full tonight.  Why don’t I take you back to Sheila’s?”

Mickey didn’t like the sound of that at all.  “Wait, are you coming back here then?  You’re just gonna drop me off?”

Ian gave him a smile, “No. Thought I’d stay there with you, if that’s ok.  Unless you want me to, just drop you off.”

“No, no no… no not at all.” 

He walked toward the door, holding his hand out behind him as he passed Ian, grinning when he felt Ian’s fingers wrap around his own.

By Friday morning, things in town were back to normal.  Everyone seemed to be back to their regular routines, with no uneasy or urgent alarm in the air as it had been the night before. Ian and Mickey arrived at the Gallagher house just in time to have breakfast with at least a half dozen townies who had stayed late into the night talking.

“Ian, I don’t want any excuses tonight.  I need you at the club, working.  Got it?” Fiona asked the second she saw him pouring coffee for himself and Mickey.

“Good morning to you too, Fiona.”  Ian answered.

Fiona threw a cotton kitchen towel at him, then walked over and pulled his head down to kiss his forehead. 

“Sorry.  Busy night.  I kinda forgot you just walked in the door.  Morning, Mickey.” 

She surprised Mickey by walking up and pulling him in for a forehead kiss as well, followed by a friendly smile as she held his face in her hands a second longer. 

“You boys do whatever it is you’re doing today and then get your asses dressed and ready, ON TIME, for work tonight.”

Mickey took his coffee and was about to make a clean escape from the kitchen.

“Mickey,” She called before he could leave.

He turned to see her waiting for him to come back, which he did against his better judgment.

“So, listen,” she spoke quietly so the conversation stayed between only the two of them, “You gonna be ok if you go tonight?  I mean, with Ian… dancing… with other people and all.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and licked his lips, “Yep.”

“I just want to be sure. I can’t have fights breaking out there, ok?  We get some big clients who come through, and our place needs to stay clean.” He nodded and took the reprimand for what it was worth.  “Ok, good!” 

If it had been Lip or Carl or any other towny he might have told them to mind their own fucking business because he could handle himself.  But like everyone else in Fiona’s outfit, Mickey knew when to keep his trap shut. He wondered how the fuck he, Special Agent Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich, had ended up a servant to an Outfit when he’d spent his entire life fighting everything about that unholy system.  Fiona’s outfit was different though, and somehow without even realizing it, he had found himself wanting to be loyal to her for the good of the Family.

***

Sheila tapped lightly on Mickey’s door.

“Ian’s here.  I told him to wait in the living room for you.” 

There was a tone in her voice that said _I didn’t want you two to get into trouble with Fiona for missing work again by getting carried away in the bedroom._  She didn’t say those words, but Mickey heard them just the same.  

He took another look in the long mirror in his room, and pulled one of the buttons closed on his suit jacket.  He looked like he was straight from Hollywood, if he dared say so himself, with his hair slicked back, and new shine on his shoes.  He opened the safe and grabbed cash for the night.  He wasn’t sure how this whole thing worked, but it sounded like he was going to be paying a lot of money for everything but the booze, so he planned on being prepared.

Mickey Milkovich on any day, cleaned and ready for the day was a sight to behold.  But Mickey Milkovich with his hair slicked just right, wearing that blue suit like it was made to hug his ass just right took Ian’s breath away.  That confident swagger and his smile were a thousand times better dressed in blue.

“You gonna stand there drooling on your shoes, Gallagher?  Fiona’s gonna be pissed if you show up there with a wet spot on your crotch.” 

“Jesus, Mick… you, uh… I, uh… just, I meant…”

“Yeah, ok, Mumbles.  I know I look good.”  Mickey walked over and pecked Ian on the mouth quickly, “You don’t look too damn bad yourself, Firecrotch.  Let’s go.” 

He walked ahead of Ian, catching Ian’s reflection in the glass window as he leaned his head to the side to check out Mickey’s ass.  Sheila gave Ian an “I know” nod, pretending to fan herself as Ian followed Mickey to the truck.


	50. Bandstands, Bitches, and Booze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday, MsKane_the_Gemini ;)

The Gallway Speakeasy was located up an inconspicuous dirt road, with steel road blocks stopping traffic just a quarter mile in.  Mickey recognized the road as one they had kept plowed clean over the past few days.  He hadn’t asked why at the time, but it seemed a waste of time to plow a road no one seemed to be using. Now as they neared the top, great vistas opened up before him showing the mountain and the town of Gallway below them.  

The building itself was unassuming.  It actually looked more like an old pole barn from the outside than anything else.  There were no flashy lights, no bells and whistles and only one simple sign that hung from the rooftop:  Closed for Business.  Another set of steel barriers had been opened up for cars to pull around and park in back of the building.  This was apparently was where all the magic took place.  There was an entry way with large bulbs burning in the doorway, and young ladies dressed in their flapper costumes standing at the door to greet guests as they walked in.

“You sure it’s ok if I’m here?”  Mickey asked.

Ian put the truck into park and switched off the key.  He stole a quick glance at Mickey who was busy taking in the details of the people beginning to arrive.  The lot wasn’t full yet, but by the line of headlights he could see coming up the road, it would be standing room only before long.  Ian pulled his door, eager to get out and not only show Mickey around, but also just wanting to show Mickey off.  While his brothers and sisters often had someone at with them at the Speakeasy, Ian had never brought a date there before.

“It’s gonna be great.   Let’s go – I’ll show you around.”

The inside was in direct contrast to the outside of the building.  There were round tables and booths all around, with giant antique looking whiskey stills along one side of the wall.  Barrels with the original Gallagher Whiskey label were here and there, working as make shift seating and tables as well. The table tops were a thick stamped leather and the chairs and sofas were covered in plush blue velvet with gold trim. 

A long bar lined one side and Mickey noticed Kev and Vee over there laughing with Lip as they served up drinks.  The center of the room was a dance floor with a bandstand just beyond it. The walls were lined with framed black and whites, some recent with familiar famous faces, and some much older.  The clean simplicity of the place was also its elegance.  This was no back alley shin dig like what Mickey had been to in Chicago.  This was a much finer establishment, and like everything else about the Gallaghers, it said _money_.

Ian went straight to work, leaving Mickey in the trusted hands of Kev at the bar.  He drank from what seemed to be a magical, bottomless glass that refilled itself before it was every fully empty.  Kev bounced from baseball and Capone – mostly Capone – looking for every dirty detail of mobster life.  He wanted the nitty gritty on the murders and madness of it all, asking Mickey questions which were mostly dismissed with a chuckle and an “I really didn’t deal with that part of it” lie.  Kev’s intrigue with Mickey’s mafia ties was likely the reason his glass kept magically refilling.

Mickey was perfectly content sitting there watching Ian dance all night.  Ian hadn’t been kidding when he said his dance card stayed full.  He would barely finish a dance with one lady, when another would slide right into her place, and boy could he dance.  Mickey was highly entertained each time they tried to pinch his toosh or whisper in his ear. Ian would glance over in his direction and shrug, earning a stupid grin from Mickey.  Once when one of the women got a little too handsy with his goods – _his goods_ being those parts of Ian’s body that Mickey’s now considered to belong to him, which essentially meant _all_ of Ian – Mickey would stand up only to earn a heavy hand on his shoulder from Vee who always seemed to be nearby.

“Whoa, big guy.  Sit down.  Can’t punch a lady, now can you?”

Then she’d fill Mickey’s drink again and try a change of subject in the conversation.  Another time she noticed Mickey had been sitting there with a scowl on his face for more than five minutes.  She glanced out at Ian on the dance floor.

“That boy only has eyes for you.  I wouldn’t worry too much about her anyway,” Vee said to Mickey, “She’s married to that fat old cow over there… horrible man.  They’ve been coming here for years and he never gets nicer.  That’s probably why his wife is trying to get her kicks off the dancers.”

Mickey didn’t reply.  He just bit his lip and adjusted in his seat.  Vee followed his gaze again, wondering what had him so upset suddenly, considering he’d been so content most of the night.  Then she saw him – standing at the far end of the room with some of the men she remembered from their visit earlier that year was Trevor, watching Ian dance with a burning look in his eyes. 

“Uh oh.”  She turned to Kevin.  “How long have they been here?”  He looked across the room, through the crowded dance floor before his eyes landed on Vee’s target.

“Shit.  I don’t know.  How’d they get passed the door?  Where’s Lip?”

“I don’t know, but Mickey looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin and rip every limb from that boy’s body if he gets too close with Ian.” 

Sure enough, Mickey was white knuckling the glass he was holding, with his eyes steady on Trevor.  Vee reached over and took the glass from his hands without him even noticing.

“Ok, all right. Let me think.”  Kevin stood on his toes behind the bar, searching for Lip.  “There’s Lip.  Let me go talk to him a sec.  Watch the bar and keep Mickey right there.  Don’t let him out of his fuckin’ seat, or Fiona’s gonna have all our asses.” 

“So, Mickey! Fiona tells us you’re an FBI agent!” 

Vee’s enthusiasm fell on deaf ears and did nothing to deter Mickey’s attention to the man across the room, who had now also spotted Mickey.  Trevor turned and said something to one of his buddies, then seconds later they all turned to look in Mickey’s direction.  Mickey extended his middle finger slowly, making sure they all saw him, then reached up to casually scratch it at his nose.  He bit his jaw down tight, the anger and tension building, but before he could act on it, his view of Trevor was cut off.

“Hey, Mickey, how’s it going?  Do you think you can help me out?  I need to bring some stock up to the bar from the cellar.”  Lip asked, making it a point to move himself in front of Mickey’s gaze, blocking off his target across the room. 

Kevin was over talking to Trevor’s group.

“Hey, Trevor, right?  Yeah, I remember you.  Thought maybe after last weekend you were all done with Gallway Falls.  Ooh, ouch, look at that eye – not quite healed up yet is it?  So what brings you back?”

Trevor laughed nervously, looking at his friends and shaking his head like he didn’t know what Kevin meant by ‘after last weekend.’  The story he’d told his friends had more to do with tripping and taking a bad fall, and didn’t even hint at the actual events of him getting his ass handed to him by Mickey. 

“You know – good music, good booze, good dancing.” He lifted his brows in a flirty manner and nodded in Ian’s direction.

“Yeah, well, listen.  The proprietor of this outfit wanted me to remind you that you and your buddies weren’t invited here tonight.  He’s not going to ask you to leave, but you and your buddies need to just keep it cool over here, ok?  And he also wanted me to tell you that Ian’s on the clock.  He doesn’t have time for visitors tonight.” 

Kevin stood his ground puffing himself up and flexing just a bit to make sure they got the message, and he felt pretty damn good about the way he delivered it too.  Lip had decided the larger of the two men should be the one to tell him, and Kevin was definitely the larger… of pretty much every man in the room.

“What about him?” Trevor nodded in Mickey’s direction as Lip and Mickey headed toward the cellar.  “Isn’t he a ‘visitor’?”

“Uh, Mickey?  No, he’s not actually.  I don’t think you should worry too much about him though.  He’s not really the kind of guy you wanna piss off.  I’m sure you know that better than anyone.”

At that, one of Trevor’s larger friends stood up and squared off against Kev as if he was up to the challenge.  While Trevor may have fed his friends a different story about getting his ass kicked, they’d definitely come to the Speakeasy looking for trouble.  Kev eyed him up and down, then wink and chuckled at him for his attempt at preening. 

“That’s cute.”  He looked back at Trevor, “Seriously.  Mickey’s helping us out tonight at the bar.  He’s not here for any trouble, so let’s keep things cool, ok?”

Kevin gave the preening wanna be thug another smile, “I bet the women love that, right?”  Then walked back to the bar without waiting for a reply.

Lip sent one of his men to go stand near Trevor’s group, making sure they stayed put.  He even assigned one of the cocktail waitresses specifically to their table to make sure none of them had a reason to approach the bar all night.  Then he put Mickey to work behind the bar, pulling drinks.  It wasn’t long before the distraction of work had Mickey chatting and laughing with the townies and Kev, nearly forgetting Trevor and his friends were sitting fifty feet away.  Nearly, but not quite.

Ian was also keenly aware of Trevor’s presence, and was making it a point to stay on Mickey’s end of the room while dancing or talking with patrons.  He smiled and winked at Mickey more than was necessary, but Ian knew that with Mickey it was necessary.  It was a team effort on the Gallagher’s part to keep Mickey in a state of calm and to keep Trevor and his asshole friends away.

That plan would have worked out perfectly if it hadn’t been for the band taking a quick break.  Fiona came walking over, grabbing Ian’s arm.

“Ian, we had a ton of requests last week for that song you played at the end of last season.   Go, grab a guitar and get up there!”

Ian gave Mickey a disappointed pouty face. He had hoped the band’s break would be his break as well, and he would finally be able to spend ten minutes with Mickey, but he was on the clock and if Fiona wantedhim playing that’s what he needed to do.  That was just how it worked – everyone busted their ass a few hours so they could enjoy the down time.  Mickey wiped his hands on a bar rag and headed to the cellar for another case of beer.

Behind the bandstand, Ian grabbed an acoustic guitar and began strumming each string to tune it.

“Hi, Ian.” 

Ian looked like a deer caught in headlights as he looked up at Trevor, blocking the only pathway out of the corner he was sitting in.

“Hey.”  Ian tried to see around Trevor toward the bar, but there were people two rows deep waiting for drinks now that the dancing had paused.  “What are you doing here?  I thought… I mean, last week, we…”

“We what?  We were interrupted by that thug.  Where’d you find him, Ian, at the bottom of one of your whiskey barrels? You can do better than that.”

Ian huffed out a laugh and shook his head.  Better than Mickey?  He doubted it.

“What d’you want, Trevor?  I thought I was pretty clear where we stood when I called you in Denver.  I was clear last week before that _thug_ put you on your ass, too.  So, what is it?   Why are you here?”

“Come on, Ian, you can’t be serious here.  You’re just gonna throw away months with me for someone you’ve known 30 seconds?  Do you even know anything about him?” 

Trevor stepped closer, forcing Ian to take a step back.  The idea of Trevor touching him right then was repulsive, and he didn’t want this to turn physical or angry.  He just wanted Trevor to leave.

“You don’t know shit about him.”  Ian hissed.

“Oh, but you do?  Just look at him!  He might clean up pretty, but he’s a street rat, Ian.  You know it, and I know it.” 

He was less than two feet from Ian, pressing closer as he tried to convince Ian.

“Ian.  What’s going on here? Fiona wants to know what’s taking you so damn long.” 

Trevor turned, nearly bumping into Vee who was standing with both hands on her hips and staring him up and down as she waited on an answer. 

“I’m pretty damn sure my husband made it clear that Ian was working tonight and this wasn’t the time for visitors.  So…”  She stepped to the side and swung her arm out, directing Trevor to leave.

“We’re just talking.” He stated, turning to smile at Ian as if waiting on Ian to back him up.

“Well, now you’re just leaving.  And why don’t you go ahead and walk all the way to the front doors, you and all your little buddies.  I think you’ve about worn out your welcome here.”  Vee raised her brows and pierced her lips together, challenging him to say otherwise.  She’d had all the Trevor bullshit she was willing to deal with for the night.  She didn’t like his ass the first time he set foot in Gallway Falls, and he hadn’t improved in her book since then.

“Well. _I_ think Ian should be the one to decide if I should leave, don’t you? Why don’t we ask him?”  Trevor took a step closer to Ian, now standing shoulder to shoulder with him, while looking at Vee.

“It’s ok, Vee.  I’ll be out there in just a minute.” Ian said.

Trevor dropped his head and chuckled, thinking he had won.  He just needed a few more minutes with Ian.  That’s all it really ever took each time Ian had threatened to walk away before – a few minutes of convincing and they could go back to the way things were before.  He hadn’t realized then and definitely wasn’t realizing now that the only reason Ian ever stuck around was because he was bored and hanging out with Trevor had been simple and convenient.   He wasn’t bored any more, and there wasn’t a person on earth who would ever use the words simple or convenient to describe Mickey Milkovich.

Vee shook her head, “You are a rude little shit.” She pointed at Trevor. “I wanted to like you, for Ian’s sake, but I don’t.  No one here likes you, so when you’re finished talking back here, I still expect you to head straight for that front door and get your ass as far away from this town as you can. You hear me?”

Trevor barely lifted his eyes in acknowledgment, a smug smile still on his face.  Vee spun around and walked away into the crowd of people, so angry that she hadn’t even noticed Mickey walking in Ian’s direction.

“Come on, Ian.” Trevor’s voice now forgiving and sensitive, hoping to plea to Ian’s softer side, “Let’s just start over.  Can’t we just forget all of this and just go back to the way things were?”

“Things weren’t any way at all, Trevor.  How many different ways do you want me to say this?  How about this way: I haven’t seen you in months, and I have no interest in seeing you again. I’m with Mickey.  I’m in _love_ with Mickey.  Not you.  There isn’t anything more for me to say here.” 

Ian went to push past Trevor to leave, but Trevor grabbed his arm, pushing him back hard into the wall. 

“Ian, don’t tell me you don’t remember this.”  He forced himself on Ian, locking their lips together.  Ian’s guitar dropped to the floor as he shoved Trevor away.  “You don’t love him.  He’s a fucking street rat, a thug.  You’re better than him, Ian. I know how you feel about me.”

It might have been that second hard shove Ian gave Trevor, but it was more likely the two hands that fell on the back of Trevor’s jacket, that sent him flying through the air with fury.  His back hit the drum set at the back of the stage.  The room filled with the cacophony of chaos and cymbal’s as Mickey dove after Trevor, sending the drums that were still standing to the ground with a loud crash!

The crowd in the room fanned out, giving them room to rumble as they fell off the stage. Trevor crawled on all fours to get away from Mickey who was in hot pursuit, throwing and kicking instruments and equipment from the stage out of his way.

“So you think I'm a street rat, huh?  That what you think I am?”

He grabbed Trevor by the back of one leg as he tried to escape, digging his fingers into Trevor’s flesh and pulling him back. Mickey flipped him over in one move, wrapping his fingers in Trevor’s curly hair, then slamming his fist into his face. 

At this point, every one of Lip’s hired men, including Ian, were in the fight, taking punches or giving them as they tried to disconnect Trevor’s buddies and random drunks who had jumped into the brawl.  Mickey was about to land another blow to Trevor’s head when someone grabbed his jacket and pulled him off.  He turned just in time to see the fist Trevor’s preening buddy coming straight for him.  Mickey threw his head to the left, a split second before the fist made contact, then dove into the guy’s gut, taking him down with another loud crash of a broken chair.  It took one solid blow to the head, and the guy was out cold.

Mickey didn’t waste a second punch on him.  He turned his attention back in Trevor’s direction, his rage far from sated. Trevor was making his way into the crowd, scrambling to hide behind one of the flapper dancers when he heard Mickey’s beastly growl behind him. He ducked low, holding onto the dancer’s shoulders, using her as a shield for safety.

Mickey dodged side to side, trying to get a clearing to grab him without hurting the screeching woman in between them.

“You fucking little bitch!  Get out here!”

The crowd around them opened for just a second, long enough for Mickey to jump in and grab Trevor by the hair, drawing out a high pitched scream. He threw Trevor back out onto the wooden dance floor to continue his beat down. Trevor was in complete defense mode, curling himself up into a ball and lacing his fingers behind his head so he could protect himself. Mickey would have beat him senseless if it hadn’t been for Kevin’s giant arms reaching around his torso and lifting him up in the air like a rag doll, carrying him quickly away from the fight.

Mickey bitched Kevin out all the way to the door, kicking and trying to land a punch anywhere he could even with his arms pinned against his own body. 

“Ok, Schmeling!  Ding! Ding! Ding! The fucking fight’s over!” Mickey gave one last kick, hitting Kevin in the balls, dropping both of them to the ground. 

“Motherfucker!”  Kevin grunted breathlessly as he fell to his knees. 

Mickey did a hard u-turn running straight into Ian, nearly knocking both of them to the ground.

“What the fuck, Mickey!” Ian yelled.

Ian pushed Mickey off of him hard.  Mickey’s fists were already balled and ready to swing, but he pulled back when he realized it was Ian.  He still kind of wanted to punch Ian, truth be told. 

“What just happened in there?!” He asked as if he didn’t already know exactly what happened.  Mickey had already told him he would fuck up anyone who came between them, and apparently he hadn’t been joking.

Before Mickey could even catch his breath to answer, Fiona was outside.

“ _HOLY FUCKING SHIT! WHAT JUST HAPPENED IN THERE!?”_

She spun in a circle assessing the men who were being bounced from the club, her eyes landing square on Mickey. 

“ _YOU!_   What the fuck did we talk about today?  Did you hear me when I said I didn’t want you to cause any fucking problems tonight? Jesus Christ!”

Lip came rushing out, “What the fuck just happened?”

It seemed to be a popular question, Mickey thought as he looked to Ian to see if he was going to explain to them how Trevor had just stuck his tongue down his throat for a second time in a week.

“I got this! Just… Give me a minute, ok?” Fiona demanded.

She held up a hand for everyone to be silent while she thought. She looked down at her own long silvery dress, once slit to the knee, but now ripped up past her thigh after getting pushed around in the chaos of the fight.

“ _Son of a bitch!”_  

She took a few deep breaths, holding a hand over her forehead as she forced herself to calm down. 

“Ok….”  She looked at Lip, “How bad is it in there?”

“They’re still pulling guys off each other – I don’t even think they know why they’re fighting.  The bandstand is busted to shit.  No one’s dancing anymore tonight. Might as well close shop because half those guys we threw out were our money.  We’ll be fucking lucky if word doesn’t get out and we get raided. Fuck, I don’t know… it’s a mess.” 

He gave Mickey that same knowing look he’d given him a dozen times before, as if he expected nothing less than trouble from him. Mickey ran his hands through his hair, ignoring Lip’s glare as the cold air of the night finally began to defuse his anger.  Ian wouldn’t even look at him. 

“Shit. Fiona, this is my fault.  I’m sorry, let me pay…”

“I _know_ it’s your fault Mickey.  There’s nothing you can do right now to fix this.  So just stand there a minute and let me figure this the fuck out, ok?”  She reprimanded.

He held his bloodied hands up in surrender, noticing for the first time the frazzled state of his suit, ripped apart.

Fiona turned her attention back to Lip.

“You wanna explain to me why you didn’t get rid of Trevor and his boys when you first noticed them here?”

“Wait a minute. You’re fucking blaming _me_ for this?” Lip pointed at Mickey hoping to shift the blame back on the right person.

“Hell yes, I’m blaming you. Your job is to make sure THIS shit doesn’t happen. Your job is to watch for people who cause problems and get them out of here.  You wanna tell me that after last weekend, you still thought it was a good idea for Trevor to be here?” 

Lip’s eyes went from Fiona to Mickey to Ian, and back again, waiting for anyone else to speak up and take responsibility.  But, technically, she wasn’t wrong.

“Fuck, Ok.  All right, shit.  I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t gonna save our ass if word gets out on this.  Get your ass in there and do damage control.  Find out where these people were coming from tonight.  If we have to buy them a fucking night at one of the hotels to make this right, then do it.  Send them home with a bottle, and fix this shit.”

Lip went back into the club. Kevin nodded his head toward the door, silently asking permission to follow, getting a nod back from Fiona. 

When everyone was gone but Ian and Mickey she turned and spoke.

“You two… figure your shit out.  Got it?”

Ian watched her as she disappeared back into the club, stunned that he had somehow just avoided one of her famous “I told you so” lectures.  Mickey scrubbed his hands across his face, pulling them back when he realized he was touching blood.  His tongue darted out tasting his busted lip. 

“Ian…”

“No. Don’t, Mickey. I don’t want to hear it.”  Ian said.  His voice was quiet but dripping with anger.  He wouldn’t even look at Mickey.

“Whaa – you don’t even want to..”

“No, I don’t, Mickey.  Whatever it is you think you need to say, you don’t.  That was a jackass move.  This is my fucking _livelihood_ , do you understand that? You’re fucking with my life! My business.”

Mickey laughed and shook his head – _unbelievable!_   He thought to himself, knowing all the blame was falling on him again.

“So, again, you’re ok with that asshole coming here and sticking his tongue down your throat and talking shit about me, but I’M not allowed to be fucking pissed about it?”  Mickey was starting to see red all over again.

Ian finally looked up at him, pushing a hard finger into Mickey shoulder.

“Exactly!  You have no fucking business coming in here and starting trouble, I don’t give a fuck what the situation is. This … This _place_ isn’t just about me, Mickey!  This fucking place supports our entire fucking town all winter long, and we can’t afford to be shut down because of some bullshit fight. Besides, I was fucking handling it!”

“You call that ‘handling it!?’  He was… fucking… That’s what you said last week when he did the same goddamn thing!  How the fuck do you think that this is ‘handling it?’  I can’t take this shit anymore.”  Mickey turned to leave, realizing he had no vehicle. “Give me your fucking keys!”

“What!?  How the hell am I supposed to get home?”

Mickey’s police training kicked in and he spun Ian around, pushing him up against a wall to frisk him. He reached into a pocket to take the truck keys. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it the fuck out.  Maybe Trevor can give you a lift.  He’s probably in there hiding under a fucking table waiting for you.”

“Mickey!  Wait up!” 

Mickey threw Ian a middle finger salute as he got into the truck and left.


	51. New Clocks

“The fuck, Ig.  Are we going the wrong way?” 

Muse pulled the car to the side of the road.  There seemed to be an endless line of cars coming from the opposite direction leaving very little room on the narrow mountain road.  Muse felt safer tucked up against the rocky wall than he did weaving back and forth on the dark road to clear the way for oncoming traffic.

“How the hell should I know? Guy at the hotel said to take this road up.”

Muse got out of the car and lit up a smoke, catching glimpses of passengers as they drove by, each of them dressed to the nines.  He stepped out into the road and waved down the next car coming their way.  A man wearing a black tuxedo with three women dressed in their flapper garb slowed for him.

“Having car trouble son?”

“Nah… I was headed up to a place called Gallway.  Every heard of it?”  Muse asked, giving a wink to one of the women in the back seat.

“Sure, just came from there myself.  Up about 15 miles.  But if you’re headed to the speakeasy, might as well turn right around.  They just closed up for the night.  Big brawl… lucky we got out of there in one piece.”

Muse turned and smiled at Iggy, amused. Gallway already sounded like his kind of place.

“A’ight.  Well, thanks for letting me know.” Muse said, taking a step back to let the car pass.

He took a few more puffs of his smoke then tossed it out into the road.

“Shit, sounds like we should just head back to Estes.  See if we can find a room down there.”  Iggy said.

“Maybe.”  Muse watched the row of cars a few minutes longer then jumped back into the car.  “Did you see the rags they had on?  I don’t know man… doesn’t seem like the kind of place we’d find Hammer.  A little too rich for his blood.”

He waited for a clearing then began to carefully turn his car around on the narrow road.

“True, but I heard they have some good shit up there. Best hooch in the Rockies. Might be worth throwing on a clean shirt just to check it out.”  Iggy said, glancing down at the clothes he’d been wearing for three days without a shower.

Muse chuckled at the thought of Iggy and him in suits and a tie.

“We ain’t got no cash for digs like that.  Shit, we ain’t got no cash period. When was that wire supposed to be coming in?”  Muse asked. 

Tony had promised a wire more than two days ago, but they were still waiting.  Between the two of them they had less than a week’s worth of room and board, and that was pushing it.

“Fuck if I know.  I don’t know what the hell is going on back home, but I say if we don’t see something by tomorrow, we just head back.”

“Works for me.”  Muse was sick and fucking tired of living out of cheap hostels and stretching meal tickets.  He was ready to be back that the Milkovich compound where the men threw down some real meat and potatoes every night.  This fucking needle in a haystack shit was wearing on him, and so was Iggy.  It was time to go home.

***

“Where’s Mickey?” Kev asked, eyeing the door for Ian’s hot tempered boyfriend who had kicked him in the balls earlier.  Kev liked him just fine.

“He left.” Ian stated briskly.

He pounded a fist on the bar as he passed, then went to help Lip and a few of the other men pick up the chairs and tables that were strewn about the room.

Fiona came walking up with a broom and handed it over.

“You and Mickey sweep up.  Make sure you get all the glass from the corners, and take down those broken mirrors.”

Ian snatched the broom from her hand, “Just me.  Mickey’s gone.”

“What the hell?  Where did he go?” She asked, peeved that he’d skipped out on the mess he had caused.

“Don’t know.  Took my keys and left.” 

Ian began to sweep the floor aggressively, flinging broken glass and napkins as he went, his anger still not subsided after the argument with Mickey.

“Hey, Ian!  You wanna watch what you’re doing there before you take someone’s eye out?”  Lip yelled after feeling a chunk of bar glass hit his leg.  “The hell are you so pissed about anyway?”

Lip looked around the room expecting to see Ian’s grumpy sidekick, equally pissed, doing his fair share of work, but Mickey was nowhere to be seen.

“Not pissed.  I’m fine.” Ian spat.

“Yeah, I can see that.  Hey, where’s Mickey?”

“Why the fuck does everyone keep asking me that?  Do I look like his goddamn babysitter?” 

Ian threw the broom against the bandstand and walked to the back of the bar to find a dustpan to pick up the pile he’d accumulated.  Fiona and Lip looked at each other, silently asking _what the fuck?_ then Fiona followed.

“Ian… everything ok?  Did you and Mickey have a fight or something?”  She asked cautiously.

He turned on her as if that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

“Are you serious right now?” He asked.

She looked at him waiting for clarity. 

“Yes, Fiona – we had a fucking fight… or something.”  He finally answered.  “That ok with you?  Or do you need to know what we fought about so you can fucking control what we said and what the outcome is?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Don’t get shitty with me just because your fucking boyfriend keeps losing his fucking shit.  I warned him this morning not to pull this shit again, and he didn’t –“

“Hey!” Vee interrupted. “Can we all just calm down for a minute?”  

She eyed Ian and Fiona then looked around the room at the men who were looking on.

“You!   Get back to work – there’s plenty to do without putting your damn nose in this business.”

She waived them off to go back to work.  Fiona shook her head as if she’d already made up that her reasoning was only reasoning.  Ian looked away as if he knew nothing he would say could make any difference.  Fiona was mad at Mickey.  Ian was mad at Mickey.  Lip was mad at Mickey.  All of them could agree on that, and yet they all seemed to be fighting one another.

“Ok, first of all,” Vee continued, “Let’s get off this bullshit that this is all Mickey’s fault, ok?  I was back there when that little weasel Trevor went looking for Ian – “ She eyed Ian, raising her brows at him.  “Yeah, you know what I’m about to say, don’t you?   I told him to leave, and _you_ said you were handling it, remember?”

“I was han-“

“Shut up.  No one asked you.” Vee interrupted, cutting him short.

Ian’s eyes dropped to the floor.  Vee turned to look at Lip.

“And _you –_ Why the hell didn’t you have the boys take that piece of trash out of here when we first saw him?  You knew he was here looking for trouble, so just tell me, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Lip had already heard the same thing from Fiona – he knew he’d fucked up, but at least now he was happy Ian was sharing in some of the blame.

“Now the way I see it is you two boys owe Mickey an apology – “ Vee said.

“What!?”  They both said in unison.

“Mmmhmm…  I’m telling you right now, if some man came in here trying to pull that same shit with me, Kev would have his ass nailed to the wall right now, hanging from the rafters for everyone to see, and not one of you would be mad at my husband for doing it.  So, what makes you think Mickey going after that ass was any different?”

She looked at Fiona who dropped her head, knowing Vee had a good point.

“Listen, you might not like the _fuck you up_ attitude that boy walks around with, but the truth is, that is who he is.  He hasn’t pretended to be anything different.  Now if even half the shit Ian has told us about the abuse he’s had to live with, not to mention his own damn father trying to kill him, and his partner selling him out – if that shit is even close to the truth, then that boy is under about as much pressure as he can handle. So how the hell do you expect him to behave when some asshole comes in here fucking with the only good thing he has going right now?  Hmmm?”

No one said a word.  

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  You all just stand here and think about that for a minute.  Then _you –“_  She said, pointing at Ian, “get your shit together and figure out if you’re ok with all of that or not.  Then go apologize to his ass for putting him in that situation to begin with.”

***

Mickey pulled the truck up to the Jackson House.   The lights in the living room were on and a houseful of guests were milling around, likely talking about the disturbance he’d caused at the Speakeasy.  He knew walking in the front door meant he’d have to come face to face with them. They’d all be looking at him as if he was the bad guy in the situation. 

 _Fuck that._   As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t done shit wrong except not finish the job on that curly haired little bitch before Kev pulled him away.  Mickey decided to go around the back and slip in through the patio.  That way he could avoid their curious stares as well as a million questions from Sheila.

He got undressed quietly, looking at the tattered suit Carl had leant him, then tossed it to the side. Sheila’s guests were enthusiastically doling out the details about the fight to Sheila – only instead of a 5’7” Mickey, he was now well over 6 feet tall and weighed in somewhere around 210, 220.  Sheila was shocked, responding with her “Oh my’s!  Oh no!  What did Fiona do’s?” 

He turned the tap in the sink, running the water slow so it wouldn’t draw attention from the other room, then wet a washcloth to clean the blood from his hands and face.  Aside from a small knick on his bottom lip that he couldn’t remember even getting, he was in pretty good shape.  His knuckles were a little bruised up, which made him smile when he thought about what the other guy looked like right now.  He shook the thought from his head.  Just picturing the other guy made his blood boil.  The idea that Ian didn’t at least _try_ to understand Mickey’s side of things made it even worse. 

One more day – two at the most, he reminded himself, still heated from his argument with Ian.  Then he could be done with this bullshit.

Mickey’s heart sank at the thought.

He didn’t want to be _done_ with any of it.  He just wanted Ian to try to see things from his point of view for a change.

***

 

Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… “Aaah, what the…”  Mickey sat up with a start, his heart still racing as his mind adjusted to the reality of the dark room around him. After tossing and turning for an hour listening to the other guests, Mickey had finally fallen asleep only to be woken now to someone tapping on his bedroom door.  He threw his legs off the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes, when he realized that the sound was not coming from inside, but rather from the patio door.

Tap tap tap… tap tap tap…

“What the fuck…?”

He approached the patio door slowly, expecting to see a giant grizzly bear politely standing on the other side of the glass, tapping to come in.  Mickey pulled the cotton curtain back an inch and came eye to eye with Ian… only it wasn’t Ian’s eye.  It was Ian’s ear.  He had his head resting against the window as he tapped his fingers steadily on the glass.

Mickey unlocked the door, having to nearly catch Ian as he opened the door and the tall, very drunk, red head fell into him.

“Jesus, Ian!  Stand up!” 

Ian dropped the bottle of whiskey he was carrying and grabbed Mickey’s shoulder trying to pull himself to a standing position. In the end, Mickey had to grab him under each arm and drag him to the bed.  He dropped Ian onto the mattress and grabbed his torn suit jacket nearby to clean up the whiskey which had leaked all over the floor.  Ian fell sideways onto the bed.

“Mick?  Is that you? Haha… that was dumb...  Of course it’s you...  I didn’t think you were here.” His words were slurred and he smelled like shit, “I was waiting a… a real long fuck(hiccup)in’ time.”

Ian tried to sit up and reach for him, but Mickey turned away to lock the door, letting him fall sideways off balance. The temperature outside had dropped and snow had begun to fall. Ian was wearing little more than his suit pants and an untucked dress shirt.

“What the hell are you doing here?  Are you trying to fucking die out there?  Where’s your coat?  How did you get here?  Are you fucking drunk?”

Ian let out a guffaw, “Whoooaa, slooower Mick.  Those were… so many … that was (hiccup) a lot of ques... words.” 

He pushed himself away from the mattress with great effort, swaying as he tried to sit up and reach for Mickey once again.  Mickey wanted to go to him, but instead he turned and walked away toward the sink in his room to pour Ian a cup of cold water.

“Oh, yes… water.  Oh my god …I’m so thirsty.” 

 _Fuck that_ , Mickey thought, suddenly changing his mind.  That asshole could die of thirst.   He decided he needed the water more than Ian.  He drank the whole glass straight down, gulping loudly.  He looked at Ian as he swallowed, making it obvious that he wasn’t going to share.

“Mmmmm.”  Mickey hummed as he took the last drink down then burped loudly. 

“Oh, ok…. I deserved that.  I do… I’m sorry. (hiccup) Ok.  I just…”  Ian smacked his lips together and swallowed hard. “But can I …have a little drink of your water… Mickey?  Just a little tiny bit.”

He whispered that last sentence like it was secret, making Mickey laugh against his better judgment.  He ran the water, filling the cup again and took it to Ian.

“Drink it slow. I don’t want you throwing up in here.”

Ian took a few sips, then said, “Oh, I’m ok.  I won’t throw up.  Already did … out there…”

He pointed to the patio door.  Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck are you doing here, Firecrotch?”

“Aaahahaaaaaha…” Ian laughed slow and drunk, a maddening smile stretching across his face making him look a little crazy, “Yooouu!  There it is.  You called me Firecrotch!” 

He took another sip of the water, smiling into the cup as water dribbled at the corners of his mouth while he nodded his head triumphantly.

“You can’t be…too mad at…” He began speaking again before he had moved the cup fully from his lips, causing him to spill most of the water down his chest, “Oh, shit… that’s cold! Holy shit!”

Mickey ignored Ian’s futile attempts to rub the water off of his already soaked shirt. He went to turn a bedside lamp on catching the time on his watch – 2:42 a.m.  Ian was still going on behind him about being wet and cold.  It was actually freezing in the room, Mickey realized.  He went to the stove in the corner of the room and started stuffing wood chunks in.

“No, no, wait. That’s not right.  You … (hiccup) … can’t … that’s not right Mickey.  You need to … here, let me (hiccup) do it.  Shit, I think that water (hiccup) made my hiccups worse (hiccup).”

Ian tried to stand from the bed, losing his balance and falling back on his butt almost immediately.

“Just sit your drunk ass down.  I’m pretty sure I can start a damn fire.”

“but… You need (hiccup), uhm, there has to … shit, I can’t think of words (hiccup)…” Ian slurred. 

He fell onto his back, covering his face in both hands to slow the spinning in his head.

“Shit, the room is (hiccup) fucking spinning.”

Mickey tucked some kindling in between the logs and lit a match, waiting for the fire to take.  It took its sweet time, making him think Ian was going to sit back up and start lecturing him again on how to build the perfect fire, but at last the flame took off.  He closed the front door of the stove and finally turned to check on Ian who was lying on the bed, still covering his face.

Mickey crossed his arms across his chest. He was too tired to deal with Ian’s bullshit right now and just wanted to go back to sleep. 

“Ian.” he said firmly, trying to get the red head to look at him.

“Oh, no…  (hiccup) Nooo, don’t say that, Mickey.”

Ian’s voice cracked and his lips began to quiver.  It was the only part of his face Mickey could see, but the red blush that shot through his complexion told Mickey that Ian was crying.  Great, just what he needed a fucking emotional drunk, soaking up his bed.

“Please don (hiccup) don’t call me that.  Please… can we… just… my name is Firecrotch… just (hiccup) not… don’t call me Ian…“

He took in a deep, stuttered breath and held it as the sobs in his chest threatened to escape. Mickey sucked his lip in between his teeth, biting back an equal urge to laugh and feel sorry for the asshole all at once.  Feeling sorry for him seemed to be winning though - Mickey’s anger quickly waned watching Ian snorting back sobs on his bed.

“How did you get here, Ian?”  He spoke a little more softly than he had before.

Ian kept his eyes closed as he wiped away the tears that were streaming, his breathing unsteady as he worked to compose himself. 

“I … I don’t know.” His voice came out small and weak.

“What?”

“I mean (hiccup) I drove.”

“You fucking drove over here in this condition?  Are you out of your fucking mind?”  Mickey lectured, sending Ian back into a drunk ugly sob state. “Jesus fucking Christ, ok, ok… calm the fuck down.” 

Mickey kneeled onto the bed so he was facing Ian, and reached his hand out to rest on Ian’s leg.  Ian still had one hand covering his eyes as he snorted back a sob but reached down quickly to grab hold of Mickey’s hand as soon as he felt the touch.  Mickey let him tangle their fingers together, taking his other hand to cup Ian’s between his own.  He leaned in a little and pulled Ian’s hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. Ian’s hand was wet from tears, making Mickey’s heart ache a little.

“All right, fuck.  Don’t move.” 

Even in Ian’s distraught state, he hiccupped out a laugh at that. There was barely a chance of him moving on his own accord at this point.

“Yeah, ok,”

Mickey switched off the bedside lamp and was back a minute later. He went the foot of the bed where Ian’s long legs were dangling. 

“Give me your foot.” 

Ian attempted to life his leg which Mickey just grabbed in the end. He untied his wet shoes and slipped them off, one at a time, laying them side by side next to the stove to dry.  He slipped each sock from Ian’s feet and laid them out on the floor as well.  Mickey ran his warm hands along Ian’s icy skin, massaging the heat back into his calves and ankles.

“Your hands are warm.”

Mickey suddenly dropped his legs at those words and stood up – a little bit of that anger still lingering and refusing to give in.  Ian laid in the dark, his eyes still closed, taking deep breaths in and releasing them in stuttered sighs as he finally calmed down from his drunken crying fit.  Mickey moved to his belt and began unbuckling it.

“Don’t get any… funny ideas.” Ian attempted a laugh, “think I might… be a bit too drunk… not sure I’d be much fun right now.”

Mickey ignored his attempt at humor, and stated tiredly, “Believe me, I’m not trying to get you out of your pants for that reason.”

Ian’s breath caught.  His heart crushed inside of him again, then he sobbed out, “You’re not?  Well…” he covered his face and began crying all over again, “ok.”

Mickey pulled Ian’s pants from his long legs with little help from Ian, who was babbling “I’m sorry’s” and “I shouldn’t have come” and “I should go’s” on the bed, without making any real effort to actually leave or even aid in getting himself undressed.

“Too fucking late.  You’re here, and half naked, so you can’t leave.  Sit up.  Let’s get this wet shirt off of you.”  He grabbed Ian’s arms and pulled what felt like 300 pounds of dead weight, “Come on, Ian, help me out here.”

“I’m tryin’ … Mickey… Hold on… oh god, I think I’m gonna throw up…”

“Motherfucker, don’t you fucking throw up on this bed!”  

Mickey ran around in a circle in the dark room searching for something for Ian to get sick in. Ian had rolled to his side and was dry heaving over the sheets where Mickey had been sound asleep just thirty minutes before. 

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare, Ian! I will kick your drunk ass if you throw up on that bed!”

Ian’s heaving ended with a long, deep burp and a hiccup, but no vomit.  Mickey scrubbed his hands back and forth through his own hair, grateful and frustrated at the same time.

“Sit the fuck up.” He said angrily as he approached the bed again. “Let’s get you out of this shirt before you actually do get sick.”

Ian gave as much effort as he could, which was almost none at all, as Mickey finished undressing him.  Mickey crawled up on the bed, grabbing Ian from under each arm, and dragged him to the top of the bed. Ian gave a half effort to push himself along with his legs, but mostly surrendered to let Mickey do the real work.

“Lay down.”  Mickey lifted Ian’s head and moved the pillow so it was just perfect, then pulled the covers up over him.  Ian shivered visibly in the cold room. 

C’mere.”  Mickey got under the covers and pulled Ian into him, wrapping his arms and legs around Ian’s own to warm his body, rubbing his hands vigorously along Ian’s arms and back to warm his muscles.

“Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

Ian tucked his teary face into Mickey’s chest and nodded.  “That’s ‘cause I walked here.”

“What do you mean you walked?  You just told me you drove.”

Ian stopped nodding and thought about it. 

“No, pretty sure… I didn’t.  I tried to, but I almost hit… one of Fiona’s peach trees.” 

His words were slow and painful to listen to, but Mickey knew they weren’t going to get any sleep any time soon, so he let Ian take his time.

“She makes the best fucking peach pie, Mick.  I can’t wait ‘til next year, then you can taste them.  Sooooo gooooood.”

“Ian, focus.  What happened?  Did you drive or walk?  It’s like three miles to the house, and it’s snowing.  Where’s your jacket?”

“Definitely both.  But mostly walked. And it’s snowing, too. Did you see that?”  He repeated, as if the snow was exciting new news. 

His whole body shivered at the thought of snow, and he curled up tighter into Mickey.

“I needed to see you.” He whispered into Mickey’s skin.

“Here I am, asshole.” 

Mickey held Ian just close enough to ease his shivering skin, but distant enough to keep his own faculties about him.  It had only been a few hours since Ian said in no uncertain terms that Mickey was fucking up his life.  He wasn’t ready to fall into Ian’s drunken desires only to wake up in the morning to find a sober Ian regretting this entire conversation.

They lay quietly for a moment, Mickey thinking he might finally get back to sleep, when Ian’s suddenly spoke, fresh with new anger that wasn’t there before. 

“You left me!”  He pushed Mickey in his chest, making Mickey pull back away from the abuse.  “Fuck you for leaving me there, Mickey!”

“Keep your damn voice down!  Sheila has other people here tonight.”  Mickey said sternly.

Ian pushed him again, but didn’t make any real attempt to get away from Mickey’s touch.  He didn’t seem to care if there were other people sleeping in the house and continued his rant, his voice loud and obnoxious as he slurred out his words.

“What the fuck … were you thinking?  Coming…  to the club and … what the fuck was that about?”

Mickey rolled onto his back, and groaned, leaving Ian to shiver alone at the other end of the bed.  He pulled his pillow over his head as Ian ranted on.

“You fucked up… everything …  fucked it up and just walked out.” Ian’s arms swung open, animatedly.  “You just left me there… with _Trevor_!  OH!  And you just beat the shit out of him!” 

Ian threw his arm out to the side, aiming to hit, but missing Mickey. Mickey felt his arm hit the bed nearby and took the pillow from his head, slamming it down hard into Ian’s face.

“FUCK!  Ooww! What the hell was that for?” Ian yelled.

“Are you actually taking that assholes side right now?”  Mickey sat up in the bed, ready to pummel Ian again with the pillow, or maybe even his fist, depending on the answer he received.

“Fuck you, Mickey! At least he showed up!”  The words came out angry, but seconds later Ian’s hands were covering his face again as he sucked his breath in.  A deep whine emerged from his throat as he started to cry again. “You just keep fucking leaving me...” 

“Jesus Christ, how much did you fucking drink tonight?” Mickey barked.

“A lot…”  Ian whined out slowly.  “Fiona said I couldn’t have any more…. She told me go to bed.  She’s pretty mad.” 

Ian nodded his head vigorously as if to make his point as he cried.  He was pathetic and sad, but the comedy of the situation kept defusing Mickey’s anger just a bit.

“No fucking joke, she’s mad.  I’ll… I’ll pay for everything that was damaged.” 

“She’s not mad at you.  _I’m_ mad at you.”  Ian snorted in a breath and pulled the pillow down hard on his own face to muffle his sobs.

“Why, because I fucked up your pretty little boyfriend’s face?  Fuck you, Ian.  You want him?  Huh?  I’ll go fucking find him and bring him back here for you – apologize and all that shit – but _fuck you_!”  Mickey was off the bed again, pacing and angry again, hands fisted, keeping a safe distance from Ian. 

Ian yelled something under the pillow then lifted up a middle finger at Mickey, holding it in the air.

“FUHOOTOO” was the most Mickey could make out of the sentence.  Ian continued to yell at him, his voice muffled and broken.

“Take that damn thing off you face so I can understand you!”

Ian pushed himself up from the bed and threw the pillow at Mickey, hitting him square in the head and knocking him back a step.

“I said FUCK YOU TOO!  I don’t fucking want him! I can’t fucking stand him and I’m glad you beat his ass! But you’re still an asshole!” 

Mickey stared at Ian, a little impressed that he had managed to get all of that out without slurring or stumbling over his words.  There was a light knock at the door.

“Goddamn!  I told you to keep your goddamn voice down!” Mickey whispered harshly. 

He opened his bedroom door an inch or two and found Sheila standing there with a tray of hot coffee.

“I thought this might help a little.”  She whispered.

The woman was a goddamn saint, Mickey thought as he took the tray from her hands. “Thanks.  I’m sorry.  I’ll… we’ll try to keep it down.”

“Ok, all right.  Good night then.”  She nodded, sneaking away from the door quietly.

Mickey set the tray on the bedside table and stared at the coffee.  He was exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from fighting all night.  He walked to the sink to get a washcloth, wetting it with warm water, then went to sit on the bed next to Ian.  Ian was hunched over himself on the bed, deflated, red eyed and sniffling.  Mickey reached out to hold his face with one hand and wipe the tears and snot away with the warm washcloth in his other hand, while Ian’s lips quivered. 

Ian didn’t know what more to say.  He had fucked things up, not the other way around, and he knew it. Everything Vee had said earlier was true – Mickey’s life was a mess, and he had only added to it with the Trevor bullshit.  Now, Mickey was going to leave him and there wasn’t anything Ian could do about it.  He let Mickey clean his face, stubborn tears still trailing down his cheeks as he gave up the fight.

“Maybe this was all just bad timing.”  Ian whispered. 

His voice caught in a sob.  He covered his eyes again, pressing away the tears that didn’t seem to want to stop.  Mickey folded the cloth in half and ran the clean side into Ian’s hair, pushing his wild red hair back into place.  His touch was gentle and loving and patient.  His heart was breaking watching Ian fall apart.

“Hey, come on.”  Mickey said softly, trying to calm Ian.  Ian pressed more tears away and sniffled as he looked away from Mickey.  “Ian, we’re not bad timing.”

“But what if we are?” 

“Then we’ll just get new fucking clocks.”  Mickey said, turning Ian’s face so they were looking at each other.  “ _We_ are not bad timing.  You hear me?”

He pulled Ian’s head in and kissed his forehead. 

“Lay down.” 

Mickey fluffed the last pillow left on the bed and pulled Ian into him again, making him the awkward little spoon.  The fire had warmed the room but he still pulled the blankets over them, tucking them all around snuggly. 

“We’re gonna be ok.”

“Ok, Mick.” He took in a deep, stuttered breath, pulling Mickey’s arms tight around him.  “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Yeah, all right.  Enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to love someone when they're happy. What's hard is loving someone when they're crying on the bathroom floor at 2 a.m. because everything came crashing down around them.


	52. A Good Penis

“My goodness, aren’t you a sight?”    


Trevor turned to see who was talking at him.  He had to turn his entire body to see properly since his peripheral vision was cut off by the swelling in his eyes.  


“Can I help you with something?”  he asked the stranger standing there staring at him.  


“Actually, I was just waiting for a table and noticed you had this newspaper that you don’t seem to be reading.  I was wondering if I could borrow some of it while I wait.”  


Trevor took a second to really take the man in.  He was tall, with bright red hair, and the same green eyes and cleft chin as Ian.   “Do I know you?”  


“Doubtful, I’m in town on family business.  Unless you’ve been to Arizona, that is.”  


“Are you by chance related to the Gallaghers, in Gallway Falls?”  


The man’s face turned sour, “Why do you ask?”  


“Just wondering – you look like one of them.  And to be real honest, after last night, I’m not real interested in meeting up with any more Gallaghers right now.” He pointed at his own face, and the man nodded in understanding.  


“They do that to you?”  


Trevor decided the guy seemed genuine enough, “You wanna sit down?  I mean, if you’re waiting on a table you might as well sit here.”  


“Ok, sure.  So, what happened… with that?”  He waved his hand toward Trevor’s face.  


“Got in a fight with my ex boyfriend’s new little thug.”  


“Ex boyfriend?” The stranger’s face pinched into a scowl.  His distaste for homosexuals was overruled by his loathing of all things Gallagher, including Ian’s new boyfriend.  “Let me guess… shorter, black hair, smart mouthed little asshole? Mikey or something like that?”  


“Yeah!  Yeah, that’s him!  So, you do know the Gallaghers, huh?  I think his name is Mickey, actually.”  


The man extended a hand to shake Trevor’s, “Clayton.  Gallagher.  I think you and I may have run into the same fist recently”  


They drank coffee.  They traded Gallagher and Mickey the Thug horror stories.  They let their blood boil over with resentment and talks of revenge.  They didn’t notice the man sitting at the table next to them who seemed to perk up at the mention of some gay thug named Mickey.  He took in everything they said, making notes in a tiny notebook that he slipped into his wallet, right next to his FBI badge.  


***  


Mickey took care not to wake Ian as he sat up on the edge of the bed, pinching at his tired eyes.  He glanced at his watch – almost 9 a.m.  The breakfast chatter from the dining room had woken him more than an hour earlier, but most of the noise had died down now.  Ian slept through all of it.    


Mickey took a look back at him, running his fingers softly through the curly red tresses, before he got up to find some clothes to slip into.  


“Where y’goin’?”  


“Hey, Mumbles, how’s your head?” Mickey asked.    


Mickey had his fair share of benders, and if memory served him right Ian’s head should feel a bit like someone beating it from the inside out with a sledge hammer.  Ian attempted to open his eyes, squeezing them shut against the sunlight.  


“Hurts.”  


“Good.  Shouldn’t be drinking so damn much.”  


Mickey picked the extra pillow up from off the floor where it had laid all night and tossed it gently at Ian’s head, which he quickly grabbed and held down snuggly, blocking out the sun.  Mickey filled a cup with water and set it next to the bed.  


“Here, drink this. I’ll go see if Sheila has anything to help.” He said.  


He grabbed the tray Sheila had brought them and headed for the door.  


“Mmmick.” Ian mumbled from under the pillow, stopping Mickey in the doorway.  He waited for Ian to say more, but nothing came.  He started to leave the room again.  


“I don’t really remember coming over here last night.”  Ian said just before Mickey closed the door.  “I mean, I guess I remember some…” he said, his voice fading.  


Mickey took a deep breath, forcing himself to let it out slowly rather than huff angrily as he wanted to do.  Of course, Ian wouldn’t remember anything – how fucking convenient for him.  


“Mickey?”  Ian called, unable to see if Mickey was still on the other side of the door.  


“What.” He said flatly.  


It was his best effort at replying without being a complete dick first thing in the morning. Ian’s stomach turned at the sound of it, wondering if showing up there had been a mistake – now more concerned that he’d said something to really mess things up that he couldn’t remember.  


“I’m sorry. ‘bout last night.”  Still no answer.  “Mickey?”  


“Ian, we’re not fucking doing this again, ok?  Drink your water. Ima go check on that anacin.”  


“How is he doing this morning?” Sheila whispered when Mickey brought in the coffee tray.  He set it on the counter and started washing the cups.  “No, no.  I can do that.”    


She shooed him away, taking new coffee cups from the cupboard and pouring a fresh carafe for him to take back to the room.  She placed two small plates, a bowl of scrambled eggs, and some muffins on the tray and handed it back to Mickey. He watched the way she moved urgently and considerately, wondering why he wasn’t getting his ass handed to him for waking the entire house in the middle of the night.    


“Sorry ‘bout last night.”  


“Oh, it’s ok. We all have rough nights. He’s just afraid of losing you.”  


That was the first time in Mickey’s entire life he understood what that meant – to be afraid of losing someone.  But hearing her say those words about himself left him dumbfounded that anyone could ever feel that way about him.    


“He could use something for his head if you got it.”    


“Oh sure, of course.” She opened up a cabinet filled with pharmaceuticals, “I have some Laudanum if you think that’ll help, or a few toothache drops but I’ve found they work wonders on headaches too.”  She pulled a bottle of Bayer from the cabinet and handed it to Mickey. “Oh, I have this too. Maybe just a spoonful with his coffee.”  


His mouth dropped open.   Opium, cocaine, or heroine.  Those were the choices.  


“You realize I’m a Federal Officer, right?”  He asked genuinely, wondering if Sheila understood that every remedy in her cupboard could have her arrested.  


“I know!  Remember, we talked about that.  It’s all very exciting.”  She said, taking the bottle from him and setting it on the tray, then sending him on his way.  


“Do me a favor – don’t open that cabinet again while I’m here, ok?” He said, setting the bottle of clear liquid on the counter as he left the kitchen.  


When he returned to the room he found Ian out of bed with a renewed energy, pulling clothes from the bureau and packing them up into the small suitcase that was tucked under the bed.  


“What are you doing?”  Mickey set the tray down, “Hey, hey… Ian.  Stop!”  Ian kept packing.  


“You’re coming with me.”    


He turned and searched the room for more of Mickey’s belongings, grabbing the shaving kit from the sink.    


“Do you even need this?” He asked seriously.  


Mickey grabbed the shaving kit from his hands, “Yes, fuck you very much.”    


He set the kit back on the sink.  Ian grabbed it up again and put it on the bed next to the suitcase.  


“Ian! What the fuck?”  


“If you’re leaving in a few days, then you’re staying with me until your truck is ready.”  Mickey crossed his arms, and scowled as Ian continued to grab odds and ends around the room, but this time he didn’t try to stop him.  


“That’s not mine.”  He took a powder puff from Ian’s hand and tossed it back on the bureau.  


“Yeah, I was kinda wondering what you used that for…”    


Ian slowed down, waiting for Mickey to protest or argue his reasons why he couldn’t leave the Jackson House, but no argument came.  


“So, are you ok with this?  Going with me?”  


“Is Fiona gonna be pissed about this?”  Ian pulled Mickey to him, kissing the top of his head, then pushing him away to continue looking for things to pack.  


“Don’t really care.  It’s my house too.  If she’s pissed, we’ll stay in one of the cabins.”  


There was no question in Mickey’s mind where he’d rather spend his last days in Gallway Falls, and that was as close to Ian’s side as possible.  Staying at Sheila’s had been great, and gave them privacy, but they wasted half the day running back and forth between houses.  They were running out of time.  Besides, everyone in town already knew they were together, so Mickey didn’t see the point in worrying about what it might look like to Ian’s family if they were staying in the same house.    


“Ok.  Let me square up with Sheila.”  


Unlike the last time Mickey had tried to settle his bill with Sheila, this time she gladly accepted payment knowing he was leaving with Ian.  Ian took Mickey’s things to the truck as he said his goodbyes and waited for him to come out.  He tried to remember what they’d talked about during the night, but it only came back in small bits and pieces.  


“All right, let’s go.” Mickey said, handing the keys over to Ian and jumping into the passenger seat.  


Ian got in but didn’t start the truck.  


“Mickey, listen – I shouldn’t have come here the way I did last night,”  


“Ian, stop… enough, remember?”  


He did remember – Mickey had said that before he fell asleep – but he still needed to say something more.  


“Yeah… I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry.” He said quietly.  


“I swear to god if you start your fucking crying again, I’m gonna kick your ass, you hear me?”  


Ian smiled, not remembering the tears at all, but vaguely remembering Mickey threatening to kick his ass the night before.  


“Shit.  How drunk was I last night?”  


“If you have to ask, that pretty much answers the fucking question.”  


“Yeah, guess so.”  His pounding head was all the evidence he needed. “But, I’m pretty sure I didn’t say what I wanted to say, so you’re gonna have to fucking listen for a sec.”  


Mickey’s head dropped back on the seat, scrubbing his hands over his face.  


“Fuuuuck… ok, asshole, just hurry up.”  


Ian wasn’t sure what he had said.  He wasn’t sure what he needed to say.  But he was sure of one thing.  


“I fucked up.”  


Mickey peeked over at him.  


“The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life was work my ass off – and I do. I work my ass off all the time and I guess for a minute I got caught up thinking my bad days were about the same as your bad days.  I thought I understood what you’re dealing with… but…”  


“Ian-“  


“No, Mick… hear me out for just a second, ok?  My life is a fucking piece of cake compared to the shit you’re doing.  I get that now.  I just wanted to tell you that – I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it the fuck out.”  


“You fuckin’ done?”  Mickey said, obviously uncomfortable with the bucket of emotions Ian was about to dump out.  


“Yeah… I guess I am.”  He looked over at Mickey who was giving him an evil eye.  “No, just one more thing.”  


He leaned in to kiss Mickey, then added, “Fiona’s probably gonna kick both our asses when we get back.”  


***  


The usual mix of Gallaghers, including Kev, Vee, and Jimmy the mechanic, were sitting around the kitchen table when the two men walked through the back door.  Mickey braced himself for every lecture he was about to receive, prepared to hand over whatever the cost to repair what had been destroyed the night before.    


Instead, he was surprised when a quiet, tired chorus of “Mornin’s” “hey” and “there’s coffee and eggs” came their way.  Everyone was eerily quiet as they kept their heads hung low over their coffee cups or their noses in the newspaper.  


Ian pointed to the stove and told Mickey to grab some food, then went up the back stairs to put Mickey’s suitcase in his room.  No one questioned it, or even looked at Ian go.  Mickey wondered if they were just too hung over to notice.  They would realize what was happening any minute, Mickey just knew it, and then … then the hell would break loose.  Just as soon as the coffee kicked in.  


“Mickey, there’s some potatoes in the bowl over there too.” Fiona said casually pointing to the counter.  


He pulled out two dishes and began spooning food into them, then took them to the table.  Any minute now, he thought again.   Ian came back down and took a seat close enough to Mickey so that he could throw his long leg up on Mickey’s knees under the table.  The minute it landed there, Mickey shoved him off, raising his eyebrows in a challenging way. Ian didn’t try again, but he scooted his chair a few inches closer to Mickey’s.  


“Hey Jimmy, any word on Mickey’s truck?” Ian asked  


Jimmy picked at his eggs lazily as he turned the page of the morning paper he was sharing with Fiona, and answered without looking up, “Mmm, maybe Monday.  Tuesday at the latest.”  


Ian dug into his food.  Mickey looked at him like he was an alien, then looked around at everyone else the same way. The anticipation was killing him, so he finally just decided to say something.  


“So. Are we gonna talk about last night?”  


“What d’ya wanna talk about?”  Fiona asked, taking a drink of her coffee.  “Pass me that jam would you?”  She asked Lip.  


“Well, I just… I don’t know. I can pay you for the, you know, whatever.  Just let me know how much.”  Mickey said warily.  


“The club is cleaned up, lost a few minor things, but I still owe you for the work you’ve been doing around town.  I’ll take it out of that.  We should be good.” Fiona answered calmly as she spread jam on her toast.  


“Aren’t you gonna yell at me?  I mean, I really don’t want you to, but… are you people hung over or something?  You wanna talk about it later, maybe?”  


Fiona finally looked making eye contact with him, giving him a soft smile.    


“I don’t drink at work.  And you don’t owe me any money.  You’ve been busting you ass around here, just like the rest of us.  I’ll take care of it.  Just… Please… try not to fucking do it again, ok?”  


She went back to reading the paper and drinking her coffee.  


“Mickey’s moving in until his truck is ready. Oh, Lip, I left your truck down the drive last night.  You can take mine if you need to.”  


“K.” Lip said without looking up from his paper.  


Mickey’s mouth hung open, his hot cup of coffee in hand.  These Gallaghers were really something else.  Just over 12 hours ago, they were screaming and yelling about being raided and everyone was upset with him, and now it was as if nothing had ever happened.  


“Mickey?” Fiona put her paper down.    


This is it, he thought.  She finally woke up enough to figure out she was still mad at him.  She looked around the table.  


“Can you all give us a minute?”  


Both men and Vee sighed a little, but gathered up their coffee and papers and walked into the living room.  Ian went to stand and leave as well.    


“Not you Ian.  Sit.”  He did, making it a point to sit a little closer to Mickey, showing a united front for whatever Fiona was about to unleash.  


“Mickey, I know you’ve already made up your mind to leave.  I think it’s the wrong decision.  I think you should stay here.” She looked at Ian and smiled.  “Ian wants you to stay.”  


Ian reached for Mickey’s hand under the table which Mickey quickly batted away before grabbing at his hand again.  


“I know you have business to take care of, but if there’s any way for you to do that while you’re here, then we would all like you to stay. Even Lip.  Ok, I’m not sure if that’s true, but I don’t care.  The rest of us want you to stay. If you can’t, I understand.”  


She went back to drinking her coffee.  Mickey didn’t have an answer.  Ian didn’t know what to say either, but tugged on Mickey’s hand a little, giving him a small smile.  


“If you do decide to stay,” Fiona added suddenly, “I thought maybe you could help out at the club.  Kev could use some help behind the bar, or you can help Lip with security.” She looked up to see if he was even considering it at all.  The look on his face was a definite maybe.  “We could really use someone who knows how to play the piano too.  At least until we find someone new.  Our last guy kinda died on us. What d’ya think?”  


Mickey looked from Ian to Fiona and back again. The words Ian had said the night before ran through his head, _You just keep fucking leaving me_. He nodded, after all, what the fuck else did he have to do, except run.  


“Yeah, I can do that.”    


“Good.  We could use a good pianist.” She said, gathering her coffee cup and dish to take to the sink.  


“Yeah, we could use a good penis.”  Ian snickered.  


“You’re a fucking child, you know that?” Mickey said, pulling his hand away and smacking it into Ian’s gut.  


“Ow, don’t hit me.  I like your penis.” He joked, leaning in to peck Mickey cheek and missing when he dodged away.  


“Ian, please, it’s too damn early for that.”  Fiona grumbled as she left the kitchen satisfied that Mickey would be staying.  


***  


Someone different answered Caffrey’s line when Mickey called – Johansen.  Mickey had worked with the guy for months but knew almost nothing about him. The one thing he did know was that Johansen didn’t seem to find it out of the ordinary at all that Mickey had been gone for more than a month and was now calling in.  He let the guy ramble on about whatever information he had before cutting the call short.  


“… that’s about the short end of it here.  A dead body floating up on shore every other day, but if they want to keep killing each other off, it makes our job that much easier, I guess.”  


“Yep, guess that’s true.”    


“Well, I’ll be sure to let Caffrey know you called. I’m sure he’ll be disappointed he missed you.  Heard him talking about a new bootleg case he was putting you on. How’s the new location treating you?”  


That explained it, Mickey thought.  Everyone assumed he transferred out.  


“It’s good, getting settled.  Did he say anything more about that case?”  Mickey asked, hoping for any hint.  


“Nah, not much.  Just heard him mention something about a truck getting pulled over in Nebraska with a shitload of whiskey on board.  Quality stuff.  They traced it back to that Colorado outfit.  Guess you hit the jackpot on that one, huh?”  


“Yeah, ok.  Listen, I gotta go. Let him know I called.”  Mickey hung up.    


Ian hadn’t mentioned anything about losing a truck in Nebraska – but then again they hadn’t really discussed the details of the family business.  If that truck belonged to the Gallaghers, they needed to know the Feds were on to them.  


***  


Lip walked into the Outfitters on a mission.  


“Hey, Fiona.  I got a call from Dennis, out in Estes.  He said there’s some guy out there asking about Gallway, lots of questions.  Said he seemed kinda weird.”    


“Weird like what?  There’s a lot of weird in this world.  What kind of stuff was he asking about?”  


“Didn’t say. But Dennis said he smelled like a cop.” Lip raised his brows, giving her that ‘I told you so’ look, as if she wasn’t expecting something like this.  


“Don’t start, Lip.  We all knew something was coming.  Either this has something to do with Mickey’s shit, or something to do with what happened at the club last night.”  


“So, basically, it has something to do with Mickey’s shit.” He stated sarcastically.  


“Knock it off.”  She got up close to Lip, speaking plainly, “You need to stop this… this thing you’ve got with him, you understand me?  He’s staying. That means we, all of us including you, are going to make sure he’s safe here.  We knew something was coming our way, and everyone is prepared for it, at least as well as we can be.  So, get off your high fucking horse and accept it.  Understand?”  


He stared back at her.  She waited.    


“Yep.  Got it.”  


“Good.”  She turned back to her work at the counter.  


“But…”  


“NO, Lip.  No fucking Buts.  That’s the way it is.”  She didn’t even bother to look up at him.  “Find out whatever you can, what this cop guy looked like, what he was driving, where he might be headed. Call around the shops out there, see if he’s been asking anyone else questions.  It’s probably nothing.”  


“Yeah, ok.”  


The bell over the door rang.  Mickey walked in just as Lip was turning to leave, each of them grunting a half greeting to the other.    


“Hey Mickey, how’s it going.  Where’s Ian?”  Fiona was getting so accustomed to seeing Mickey and Ian tied together at the hip that it was surprising to see Mickey come in alone.  


“He said something about helping some guy cut firewood today.  I’m gonna meet up with him soon, but I need to talk to you.”    


Mickey made himself right at home, going for some hot coffee before Fiona ever even offered it. She smiled a little to see him letting down his guard.  She knew the more comfortable he felt there, the more he would be willing to fight for the town if it came to that, and for Ian.  


“Everything ok?”  


“Just talked to my office back in Chicago…”  Mickey filled her in.  He told her about Terry sending some of his boys to Colorado - how Sullivan had finally cracked, and was also likely in Colorado. And to top all of this off with a cherry, he told her about the possible investigation into the Gallagher business.  


Fiona had taken a seat, nodding her head as she took it all in.    


“Is that it?  I mean, I hope it is because that’s a shitload to deal with, but I need to know everything, Mickey.”  


“That’s what I know.”  They both sipped their coffees.  “Fiona, this is why I thought it was better if I left-” He began to explain, but she cut him off.  


“Nope.   We’re not starting that shit again. You agreed to play piano for me (Mickey snickered at the memory of Ian – a good penis) and I agreed we were going to do what we needed to in order to keep you safe.”  


“This is bigger than you think, Fiona.”  


“No, Mickey.  It’s not.  I know exactly how big it is.  Do you really think this is the first time someone from the Outfit or the Feds tried to come at us?  It’s not.  We have this down, ok?  Everyone in town is aware of the situation, and we’ll handle it if it comes to that.”  She took both of their empty cups and rinsed them in the sink.  “Go find Ian.  I’ll see you tonight.”  


“Uh… about tonight…”  Mickey said uneasily.  


“Do I want to even hear this?”  She asked.  


“I don’t have a suit any more.  Kinda ruined the one you sent me.”  


“Get the fuck out, and go help Ian.  We’ll find another suit.  Lord knows Lip has enough to go around. And don’t be fuckin’ late tonight!”  


****

HOMEWORK: Listen to this song or I won't post the next chapter!  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBfN56i8a3M&t=0s&list=PLUOWc5bom23DZBdwixRvDInHxeU6_tuip&index=96


	53. Fallin' Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you listen to the song??

“Hey, Tommy, what the fucks going on out there?  We’ve been waitin’ on a wire for days.” 

Muse was done with polite bullshit, and knew he was about to get his ass chewed for talking out of line, but someone back in Chicago needed to know they were done fucking around. They were practically freezing to death sleeping in the car so that they could afford to eat during the day.

“Where the fuck have you been?  I got guys all over the fucking country tryin’ to lay eyes on you!”  Tommy was pissed, but he was speaking low as if making sure not to be heard.

“Yeah, well you weren’t looking all that hard.  Tony said he was sending cash days ago.  What’s the fuck happened.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, boy. You still gotta come back here and face the goddamn music, so don’t forget who the fuck you’re talking to.” 

Tommy held his hand over the phone and yelled through the house for Tony.  Muse rolled his eyes as he poured more coins into the payphone on the operators demand.  He covered the mouth piece so Tommy couldn’t hear him bitching to Iggy.

“Unfuckingbelievable.  I’m over here putting our last dimes in this bitch so him and Tony can have a fucking little tea party while we… holy fuckin’ shit! Iggy!  Is that who I think it is?”

Muse pointed out toward the dining area of the restaurant at a man sitting all alone scribbling notes in a notebook.

“Hey, isn’t that fuckin’ Sullivan?  Mickey’s partner?”

Tommy came back on the line, “All right asshole, Tony’s taking care of that wire right now.  Now tell me what the fuck is going on out there, because if you’re just dickin’ around, maybe you should use that money to get your asses back to Chicago.”

“Tommy, Tommy, listen!  You’re never gonna believe what the fuck we just saw!  Take a guess.”  Muse said.

“I don’t have time for your damn guessing games right now - just tell me.” 

Tommy could hear Terry yelling at someone in the other room.  The house had been in complete chaos since the night Iggy and Muse had left town. Weeks had passed with no sign of Hammer or Terry’s money, and now there dozens of men who were deserting the crew or coming up dead.  Terry was climbing the damn walls.  Every little thing set him off and made him trigger happy.

“Sullivan.  Looking mad as fuck, too.”

“Sullivan?  You mean that fucking fed that was tailing us a few months back?”  Tommy asked.

“Yeah, yeah, same guy.  Mickey’s partner.  You think they sent him out here looking for Hammer?”

“I have no fucking clue anymore. You still got eyes on him?”

“Yeah, sure.  He’s sitting there eating, about forty feet away from me.”

“Yeah, that’s good.  Don’t let him peg you.”

“Yeah, got it.”  Muse rolled his eyes.  Just like Tommy to assume he needed reminding of something so basic.

“Listen, I gotta go.  Tony said Boulder within a few hours.”  Muse could hear Terry’s voice beginning to boom in the background.

“See what you can see with Sullivan. Hell, maybe the feds know something we don’t.”  Tommy hung up the line. 

Muse and Iggy made their way to a table in the back where they could keep an eye on Sullivan.

***

“What time do we gotta to be there tonight?” Mickey asked.

He fussed with the tie Ian had picked out to go with the black suit.  It was a dark plum herringbone, which complimented the plum suit Ian had chosen for himself. 

“We look fucking stupid.  Give me a different tie.”  He pulled it from his neck and tossed it on the bed.

“We need to be there now. No time for a new tie.”  Ian grabbed the tie and Mickey by his arm to pull him back from the closet.  “You’re wearing this one.  You’re gonna be up on stage for everyone to see.  It’s perfect.” 

He wrapped the long tail in a full Windsor, pushing the knot just a bit too tightly around Mickey’s neck.

“Jesus, you trying to fucking dress me or strangle me.”  Mickey pulled the knot loose, readjusting it so he could breathe.

“Sorry, Mick.  Was just thinking about how snug I could tie you up in this.  Guess my thoughts kinda got away from me.” Ian wiggled his brows teasingly.

“Is that all you ever fucking think about?”  Mickey pulled his jacket on, fixing his cuffs and double checking himself in the mirror.

“Yes.  Yes, actually it is.”  Ian grabbed Mickey’s ass, then reached for his keys on the bureau and headed for the door.  “But if you want me to think about something else, I could probably …”

“No!  No, I just don’t want you accidentally choking me to death while you’re thinking about it.  That’s all.”

It was a twenty minute drive up the mountain following the traffic headed to the club.  The brawl the night before had obviously done nothing to deter their clientele from returning for a little more fun.  By the time Ian parked the truck behind the warehouse turned Speakeasy, there was already a line of people waiting to get in.

Fiona waved Mickey over the minute they walked through the back door.

“Perfect, you're here. Mickey you look great!” She said, reaching out to adjust his tie.  He waved his hands impatiently, slapping her hands away.  “Sorry, ok listen, we salvaged enough of the drums, we have someone on bass, and thank god nothing happened to the horns – so if you can read sheet music, we should be good to go.  You ready?”

Mickey bit at his lip, looking nervously at the bandstand, and nodded.  He had never played live in any kind of band before, but after the mess he made of things the night before, he figured it was the least he could do to try.

“And Mickey.  I don’t care what is going on with Ian tonight, _you_ stay on that stage. Understand?”

His head was still bobbing from his previous response.

“Hey, Mickey, I need to know you heard me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. I won’t fuck it up.”

He cracked his knuckles and moved his head side to side, cracking his neck like he was about to enter a boxing ring, then headed for the stage. 

The members of the band consisted 5 gray haired men who knew a thing or two about music. They sounded as if they’d been playing together for decades, taking cues off one another as they played freeform.  It took Mickey a good half hour before he finally pushed the sheet music to the side and decided to just let the music and musicians speak to him.  Once he finally did, there was a whole new level of brilliance and talent unleashed on stage.  The dance floor never emptied. 

Ian spent so much time watching Mickey on stage that he was stepping on toes more often than Carl generally did, which was a lot.  Fiona noticed it as well, deciding it might be time for both of them to take a break. In between songs, she leaned over to tell Mickey to go grab something to drink, knowing Ian would follow.

Mickey was sitting at the bar waiting on Kev to pour him a cold beer, when Ian tapped on him on the shoulder.  Kev slid the glass to Mickey, who took a quick sip off the top before he finally turned to see his favorite dancer standing there smirking.  Mickey took a long refreshing drink of his beer, making an obvious point of drinking in Ian from head to toe as well, before letting out a long belch.

“Nice.” Ian chuckled.

“Having fun out there, Firecrotch?”

Ian held his hand out to Mickey who only stared at it for a few seconds.

“Dance with me, Mick.”

Mickey licked the drops of liquid from his lips and looked around the place. It was packed, people gathered in groups around the tables, women hanging onto men, couples walking out onto the dance floor pulling each other close. 

“The fuck you say.” Mickey replied, but Ian didn’t lower his hand.

The band began to play a simple melody that Mickey was unfamiliar with.  Fiona was at the mic waiting her queue to come in. She raised her eyebrows and smiled at Mickey, as if also waiting on his answer, when Mickey realized Ian had requested this particular song.

“I don’t dance.”

Mickey took another drink of beer, but Ian didn’t relent.  His hand was still out, waiting patiently.  He smiled at Mickey, knowing the band was extending the melody a bit while they waited as well.  Mickey looked around the room again.  Everyone was busy in their own little cliques, laughing, talking, drinking, dancing. 

Ian waited.

“Fuck.”  He muttered, setting his beer on the bar. He took Ian’s hand reluctantly.  “I don’t know how to fucking do this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you. Come on.”

Ian moved them just far enough away from the bar to give them space to move, but not so much that Mickey would feel uncomfortable out in the middle of the floor.

“Your arms go here.” 

He set both of Mickey’s arms around his shoulders, then pulled Mickey into him by the waist. They moved slow, almost not at all in the beginning, as Ian only swayed them side to side and Fiona began to sing.

“I feel fucking ridiculous.” Mickey grumbled.

He looked around the room again nervously, biting his lip, waiting for all eyes to fall on them, but they never came.  Ian waited for him to relax, knowing it always took a little time, but in the end it would happen. 

“Just listen to the music and relax.  This is all we have to do, I promise.” Ian said, moving his hand up Mickey’s back to calm him.

Mickey finally looked at Ian.  Ian’s smile soft, his eyes reassuring, reminding him that this was ok.  He swallowed hard, trying to listen to the song Ian had picked for them.  He took a deep breath to calm the shakiness that was coursing through him.  He kept his eyes on Ian.  His hand moved slowly from their stiff position on Ian’s shoulders and wrapped around the back of his neck as Mickey finally began to breath again.  Ian pulled him in closer, and Mickey tucked himself into Ian’s neck.

Ian moved them just a little more than a sway now as he hummed the song in Mickey’s ear that his sister sang for both of them.

It all rushed back – those things that Mickey never thought of any more – the dirty streets of Chicago and his empty apartment, the 18-hour days at work, the men that shared his name and wanted him dead, and men that didn’t share his name who felt the same. 

He pulled Ian closer to him, pressing his fingers desperately into his skin as he realized he never wanted to go back to that lonely world again. He didn’t know back then that there was something more for him – something better. He had learned to survive and to be satisfied with a job that kept him fed in a harsh world. Until Ian, Mickey had never realized that surviving each day didn’t equal having a life – not like this. Those things – his old life – were nothing compared to how vibrant and full his life had become since the moment they had met.

“I love you, Ian.”

The words fell soft and sincere on Ian’s ear. They were out of Mickey’s mouth before he even realized he had said them.  He didn’t care.  He meant them.

Ian’s arms tightened around him, “I know, baby.”


	54. Sliver of Moonlight

It was after midnight before Mickey had another break.  He was exhausted and could tell just by watching Ian on the dance floor that Ian was as well.  Fiona has turned over the mic an hour earlier to another lady and was now playing hostess around the club, talking to patrons and helping serve drinks.  The crowd of people never seemed to slow down, and now he understood why Winter Season was so lucrative for Gallway Falls.  

Mickey caught Ian’s eye and nodded toward the back door then headed out for some fresh air. Ian joined him a minute later with two cold drinks in hand.  Too tired to even talk, they leaned against the brick wall shoulder to shoulder, both of them wishing they could crawl under covers next to the other and just sleep for hours.

The back door opened bringing the din of the crowd and the music from inside out to their resting spot.  Mickey leaned his head on Ian’s shoulder, letting out a tired sigh at the thought of going back in there any time soon.

“Hey Mickey, there’s someone at the bar asking for you.”  

Lip and Kevin were standing at the door, Lip keeping an eye inside the club to make sure no one was following them out back.  Ian and Mickey stood up straight, immediately alarmed by Kevin’s announcement.

“Who?  Does anyone know you’re here?”  Ian questioned.

Mickey shook his head.  He hadn’t told a single person his exact location but he knew there could be any number of people looking for him.  He had no idea which one might be inside the club.  

“No, no one.”

“Are you sure they asked for Mickey?  What did they say? What do they look like?  Did you ask them what they wanted?”  Ian blurted out quickly.

“Whoa, slow down. One question at a time.  Older guy, gray hair, wearing a suit. Came up to the bar a few minutes after Mickey left the stage.  I’m surprised he didn’t spot you coming out here.”  Kevin said.

“Right there.”  Lip was holding the door open just a crack and nodded toward the man Kevin had talked to.  “Mickey, come here.  You know him?”

“Shit.”  Mickey stepped away from the door and ran his hands through his hair, “Yeah, I know him.  That’s my partner, Sullivan.”

“Oh, so he’s a Fed too?  Fucking great.  That’s awesome.  Fucking Feds everywhere…”

“LIP!  Shut the fuck up a minute! He’s not just a Fed. He’s the guy who set up the hit on Mickey.”  Ian explained.

Lip closed the door, holding his hand firm against it to insure no one pushed it open too easily from the inside.  

“Wait. Let me get this straight…Your partner put a hit on you?”

“No, my old man did.  He just helped set the whole thing up.” Mickey explained, pointing through the wall toward Sullivan.

“Holy shit, everyone seems to just love you don’t they? Your old man and your partner both want you dead.”  Lip said sarcastically.

Ian was on him in a flash, shoving him hard against the door with a thud.  Ian dug his fist into Lip’s chest and leaned in close so they were face to face.

“Do you fucking understand what’s happening right now?  This isn't the time for your bullshit, Lip.  That man in there tried to kill him.”

Lip caught the fire in Ian’s eyes and nodded his head.  He got it, and remembered what Fiona had said earlier – everyone in Gallway was responsible for keeping Mickey safe while he was here, personal feelings aside.   

“Ok, yeah, got it.  I’m… Fuck… Ian get off me!”  Ian pushed him hard, taking his time backing up to give Lip space.  Lip ran his hands down his suit, straightening his shirt and cuffs.  “Listen, Mickey, tell me what you want us to do here?  You want me to have the guys bounce him?”

“What did you tell him?’ Mickey asked Kevin.

“Not a damn thing.  He asked if we’d had anyone come through town, yay high, black hair, blue eyes, name of Mickey Milkovich.  I made up some excuse, told him I couldn’t hear him over the music.  Then I said I had to grab some shit from the cellar, and I’d be back in a minute.  Now he’s just sitting there waiting, so I gotta tell him something.”

Lip opened the door again and saw Sullivan talking to one of the patrons sitting at the bar.  It was not a local, which was a big fucking problem.  Mickey had been up on the stage all night long so anyone who had been paying attention would probably be able to ID him from a general description Sullivan might give them. The man Sullivan was talking to nodded his head and pointed at the piano that Mickey should have been back at by now.

“Fuck. Too late.  Fuckin’ Joe Wise Guy at the bar just fingered you.”  He shut the door again. “Sullivan’s in there looking around for you now.”

“Fuck!”  

Mickey didn’t know if Sullivan was there with any of Terry’s men or by himself – what he did know was that having a relentless Federal Agent in the Gallagher’s Speakeasy was just as dangerous to him as it was to the Gallaghers.  He needed to leave – to get as far from there as he could and hope that Sullivan would just give leave once he realized Mickey was gone.

“I need to get out of this town before he fucks everything up for you.”  Mickey headed for the cars parked in the back lot. 

“Wait!  Mickey, you can’t just leave!”  Ian said, jogging to catch him.  “Listen to me, ok?  Just listen.  If you leave Gallway, he’s gonna to find you.  You hear me?  He tracked you here, he’ll track you someplace else.”

“We can’t just fucking sit in your little mansion and wait for him to come knocking, Ian!”  Mickey looked back at the at the door expecting Sullivan to come looking for him any minute. 

“Ian.”  Lip called out, walking toward them.  Kevin leaned against the back door to make sure no one came out.

“It’s time. You need to take him.  Head up to the cabins, now.  Put the blocks on the road and don’t fucking move unless you hear from me, got it?  We’ll keep him here as long as we can.”  

Ian nodded and pulled Mickey’s along, heading toward his truck.  Lip went back into the club to find Fiona and Kevin went in ready to pour as many drinks as it took to keep Sullivan sitting tight, giving Ian and Mickey a head start up the mountain.

As their truck kicked up dirt leaving the lot, Muse and Iggy sat in their car keeping a close eye on the front door, waiting for Sullivan to emerge again.

“I told you they weren’t gonna let us in this place dressed like this.” Iggy said sullenly.

“Shut the fuck up, Iggy.  Christ, how many times are you gonna bring that up?  Tony didn’t send enough cash to take you on a damn shopping spree.”

Neither of the men took note of Ian and Mickey driving past.

They made their way down the mountain as quickly as Ian could drive on the dark winding roads.  

“I need to get my bag from your place.”  

“We don’t have time for that Mick – it’s in the other direction.  What’s there that you need?”

Mickey thought of his guns, the money which was his only lifeline for the time being, and his wallet and badge, all sitting in Ian’s room.  None of it was going to help him stuck up at the cabins. 

“Shouldn’t we be going up the mountain?” he asked, ignoring Ian’s question.  “Why are we headed back to town?”

“Wrong road.  The cabins and the mines are all up the road at the other end of town. We can’t get there from here.”

That was good, Mickey thought.  Sullivan might go driving around town a bit but the dirt road leading to the cabin was definitely a bit more obscure and difficult to find.  He wasn’t likely to see it if he wasn’t out looking for it.  Maybe heading to the cabin was a good idea.

“Mick, your stuff?  What do you need there?”

“I, uh… I have my wallet and uh…my money.  There’s a lot of money there that I need to get.  It’s in my bag, in the closet”

Ian shook his head.  “I can’t take you to the house for money, Mick.  Too risky.  Can’t spend it here anyway, but I’ll make sure someone takes care of it.  It’ll be safe.  Do me a favor and get out of the window.  We’re gonna be in town in a minute and I don’t know who might be there looking for you.  Let’s just make sure they don’t see you.”

Mickey leaned down in his seat.  His heart and his mind were racing.  He had no qualms about facing Sullivan himself, but he worried about the trouble he had brought here to Gallway now that it had finally arrived.  Sullivan was just enough of a weasel to either bring more of Terry’s men with him, or to start working with the authorities to infiltrate the Gallagher’s business.  Sullivan was dangerous no matter which way he played it.

They pulled up behind the Jackson house at the end of town fifteen minutes later.  Ian parked around back and told Mickey not move an inch until he was back.  He tossed his suit jacket over Mickey as he lay on the seat of the truck.  Ian was gone all of five minutes, running back out to the truck with a box of food Sheila had given him, filled with random items she grabbed from the shelves.  He tossed the box into the back of the truck, startling Mickey.  Ian jumped in the cab and roared the truck’s engine to life, taking off for the dirt road that would lead them to the safety.

“Ok, your stuff is fine.  Called Mrs. Owens at the diner.  She’s going to the house to take care of it.”

“You just called some random person to go lock my shit up?  Ian, that’s all the money I have! If it goes missing, I won’t be able…”  

“Mickey!  Calm down a minute!”  

Mickey was running his hands though his hair again taking in a deep breath, trying to stay calm.  He’d never run from trouble a day in his life but now he felt like just his presence alone was all the danger the Gallaghers could handle – if they could handle it at all.  Ian pulled onto the dirt road and drove a hundred yards or so before pulling over.  

“Mick, look at me.”

Mickey was looking out the windows, expecting headlights to come up on them any minutes.  Ian calmly reached out for him, taking his face in his hands and making Mickey look at him.

“Mick, everyone in town knows what’s happening.  I know you don’t get that.  I know that this feels strange to you, that a bunch of strangers would keep you and your things safe, but you have to trust me.  No one here is going to say anything.  No one. Mickey, I need you to trust me on this.”

Mickey wanted to trust him.  He looked back down the road, then back at Ian.  He was cornered, and the only person he had right then was Ian, so he didn’t really see any other options.  He nodded his head.  

“Can we please drive?”

“Yes.  We can.”  Ian pulled the truck forward.  They drove halfway to the cabins before he pulled to the side of the road again and turned off the engine.

“What are we doing?”  Mickey asked, once again checking behind them for headlights.

“Road block.  Come on.  We need to get it set up quick.”  Ian jumped from the truck and ran into the thick of trees.  Mickey barely had a minute to figure out where he had run to when he heard Ian yelling for him, “Mickey, come on!  I need your help!”

Mickey ran into the woods and found Ian tugging on one of the two very heavy, metal road barriers that were hidden there.  

“Grab that end.” 

They lifted the barrier and carried it back to where the truck was parked.  It only covered half of the road so they went back for the second barrier.  It took them nearly 10 minutes to get them both set in place, leaving only inches open on either side of the road.  Ian wrapped the chains that were hanging around one of the barriers, tying both of them together.  He hadn't brought a lock with him but hoped they would give the illusion of being locked if anyone drove up.  It would at least deter Sullivan if he tried to move the barriers on his own. 

“Ok, let’s go.”  Ian said, heading for the truck.

It was the middle of the night when they reached the cabin.  The Speakeasy was sure to have closed by then and there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that Sullivan had confirmed with enough of the patrons that he’d been there.  Now it was just a waiting game to see if Sullivan found his way up this mountain.  

The adrenaline Mickey and Ian had been running on earlier was gone and they could barely keep their eyes open as Ian drove the last stretch of road to the cabin.  It was dark and looked deserted, all shuttered up without the canoes and camp set up as it had been the last time Mickey was there.  

Ian pulled around the back of the cabin, parking his truck close to the back door. He turned the engine off and took a minute just to sit, blinking tiredly.  Mickey wanted to get inside as quick as possible but a check list was running though Ian’s head that he really didn’t want to be thinking about right then.  The first thing on that list was priming the pumps and getting some coal and wood to warm the cabin before they could even go to sleep tonight.

“Ian, let’s go.”  Mickey said, stirring Ian from his daze.  

He got out and waited for Ian at the back door.  Ian moved much slower, grabbing the box Sheila had sent with them from the back of the truck.   He unlocked the cabin door and pushed it open for Mickey to enter.

“Here, take this.  I’ll be right in.”

Mickey took the box to the kitchen and set it on the counter.  He rubbed his hands together against the cold of the cabin, then rubbed them vigorously against his arms to cut the chill that was settling into his bones.  He went to stand at the front shuttered window trying to peer through the narrow crack of wood, but could only make out a sliver of moonlight glaring off the lake. The shuttered dark of the room made Mickey miss the magnificent view the cabin usually offered, but he was grateful for the shuttered room now. Anyone coming up to the cabins would assume them to be completely deserted for the season.

Ian came in a few minutes later with a wood box and a bucket of coal, his nice plum suit soiled in charcoal.  Mickey rushed to grab the wood from him.  He hadn’t even considered they might need anything to get set up for the night.

“Shit, sorry.  What else do we need to do.”

Ian pointed out a few supply closets for linens and blankets and said he’d be back, reminding Mickey to use the lanterns in the room and no overhead lights.  Mickey got their room set up with sheets and blankets on the bed and started a fire in the little corner stove before Ian returned.

“Ok, waters running.  We have enough wood for the night.  We can grab more in the morning.”  He looked around the room briefly, then his tired eyes fell on Mickey.  “Come here.”  

Mickey practically fell against Ian as they both finally took a deep breath, relieved that so far everything seemed to be working in their favor.  Ian hung on to Mickey, too tired to do much else.  

“There’ll be a few people up here in the morning, so don’t be alarmed if you wake up to some noise.  Let’s just get some sleep.  I can’t even think anymore, I’m so tired.”

They undressed to their boxers and undershirts and crawled under the heavy blankets Mickey had laid out on the bed.  Mickey fell into his side of the bed, too tired to move.  Ian crawled into his own side, then slid closer to Mickey and pulled him closer.  Mickey fell asleep almost the instant his head fell on Ian’s chest and Ian followed soon after.


	55. Nice Legs

The snow began to fall heavy on the mountain an hour after Ian and Mickey got to sleep. Lip and Carl were up early to clear the roads, one truck short for the job. Fiona left the Outfitter in the hands of a young girl from town as she, Jimmy, Kevin, and Vee walked around town making their presence seen.  She took time to greet both the townies and the weekend visitors with her famous Fiona smile and a heavy dose of sugar in her voice, looking for any hints or mentions of Mickey or Ian. 

Lip finished plowing his roads, then parked in front of the Outfitters around 11 a.m. He stepped out of the cab and automatically took a look up the hills as he closed his door.

“You noticed them too?”

Lip turned around and came face to face with Mickey’s partner, Sullivan, leaning against the wall of the Outfitters.  He nodded upwards toward the mountain. 

“Uh, hi.  Do I know you?”  Lip asked, feigning ignorance.

“The name’s Sullivan. Special Agent, Mark Sullivan, with the FBI.”  He pulled his wallet from his pocket and quickly flashed his badge at Lip.  “You’re Phillip Gallagher, right?” 

Sullivan put his hand out to shake Lip’s.  Lip looked at his hand but pretended to be wiping dirt on a rag sticking out of his front pocket.

“Yeah, Phillip.  Sorry, shouldn’t shake – my hands are kinda dirty.  Been working all morning.”

“Oh, sure, I understand.”  Sullivan put his hands back into the pockets of his long overcoat.  He kept his eyes on Lip as he headed for the front door of the Outfitter. “So, those lights, up on the mountain.  What do you think they mean?” 

He followed Lip into the store which was bustling with shoppers. 

“Uh, not sure what you’re talking about.”  Lip answered. 

He walked to the front counter where the store clerk was helping check out a customer and made himself busy hoping Sullivan would beat it.

“How’s it going here?  Has it been this busy all morning?” He asked the girl, noticing Sullivan was still standing near.

“Yes, it’s been like this since Fiona unlocked the doors this morning.  Everyone’s asking about scheduling snow shoe hikes today.  Not sure what you want me to tell them.”  She looked at Lip waiting for some direction.

Lip looked around the store.  Normally on a heavy snow day, Ian took groups up the Aspen trail on a guided hike, but there wasn’t a chance of that happening today.  No one else in town lead those hikes the way Ian could.  As if on cue, a customer walked up and inquired about it right then.

“Hi, we were interested in signing up for the Snow Hike you have advertised on your sign.” He pointed to the window where a sign announced the winter tourist activities.

Lip looked at the window, catching Sullivan smug face as he too waited to hear the answer. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that - that’s an old sign.  We’re not doing snow hikes this year.”

“But, that sign says, “Winter Season ‘32” the customer complained.

“Yeah, it was misprinted.  I’ll get that taken care of.  I’m sorry but my brother does the tours and he’s out of town for some work this year.  He’ll be back in the spring if you want to come back then.  Plenty of hiking and fishing once the snow clears up.”

The man walked away disappointed. 

“Your brother leads the hikes?  Would that be Carl or Ian?”  Sullivan asked as he walked closer to the counter.

“Excuse me, but was there something you needed? You seem to know a hell of a lot about me and my brothers, so what the fuck do you want exactly?”  Lip’s patience were wearing thin.  Had Fiona been there, perhaps the conversation would have been a bit more diplomatic, but she wasn’t there.

“Is there someplace we can talk? Privately?”  Sullivan asked, looking toward the door to the back room.

Lip looked around.  If the store had been filled with townies he would have told that asshole that it _was_ already a private conversation, but there were too many visitors in the store to consider this town business.

“Follow me.” 

Lip led him out of the store and headed to the diner.  It was at full capacity with people waiting to be seated at the front door, but Lip went straight to an empty table near the back with two seats.

“Did you call ahead for a reservation?”  Sullivan said jokingly. The look on Lip’s face clearly said he was in no mood for small talk or jokes.

“This is my diner, my table.”  Lip stated plainly.

“You sure we can talk here?” He asked, looking around at the crowd of people.

“No one’s listening to us here.  What the fuck do you want?  And I don’t mean off the menu, so get to talking.”

***

The sound of a car engine pulling to the back of the cabin startled Mickey awake.  He jerked to sit up, but Ian lazily pulled him back down.

“Mmmmm, don’t move.  It’s freezing in here, I need you to keep me warm.”  Ian grumbled.

“Ian, get up!  Someone’s out there.”  Mickey attempted to get up again, but Ian held him tighter.

“Relax, Mick. It’s just the cavalry.  I told you someone would be here this morning.  Don’t worry.”  Ian stretched, finally letting Mickey loose, then sat up slowly and yawned. 

The back door of the cabin opened up.  Mickey sat up anxiously on one elbow between Ian and the bedroom door, waiting for something bad to happen.   Ian finally got up and pulled his suit pants on, passing on the white shirt that was now soiled with black charcoal stains. 

“Wait here.  I’ll be back.”

Mickey was at the bedroom window as soon as Ian left the room, trying to see between the cracks of the shutters, but all he could make out was a glaring white light staring back at him.  He started dressing, listening to Ian talking to someone – possibly two different someones – in the kitchen.  He pulled the bedroom door open a crack and listened, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He walked a few steps into the living area which was nearly still as dark as night with everything shuttered up.

Two men were standing with Ian at the kitchen table, the conversation already coming to an end.  They shook hands and told him to get a hold of them if he needed anything else, then headed for the back door.

“What the hell was all that?”  Mickey asked once they were gone.

“They brought us some supplies.  Not sure how long we’ll be here, but if things get heated we can always move up the mountain. For now we should be safe here.” 

Ian began to unpack some of the boxes the men had left behind.

“Mickey, can you get a fire going?  It’s fucking freezing in here.  The wood’s right out the back door in the shed.”

Minutes later Mickey was back with an armload of wood, trying to expertly start a fire the way Ian always seemed to do. It was a whole lot harder to do in a dark room. 

“I am never gonna get used to the fucking weather in this place – did you know it snowed last night?” 

Ian hummed as if it wasn’t surprising news at all. 

“Hey, won’t someone see the smoke from the chimney?”  Mickey asked. 

The smoke from the fire curled in little wisps as the flames grew stronger and began to roll out into the living room and into Mickey’s face making him cough.

“Oh, shit, Mick!  Open the flue.” 

Ian went over and pushed the latch to open the chimney flue, clearing the swirling smoke almost immediately.  He put his hand directly into the pit, rearranging several of the already burning logs to angle against each other, pulling his hands out and shaking them violently when he was licked by a flame. 

“There, that should do.” Ian said, satisfied with the improved log arrangement.

He smiled at Mickey who was standing cross armed behind him with a scowl on his face.  

“You told me to build a fire, then you come over here and fuck with it.”

“Oh, come on.  You built a good fire, see? I just moved a few logs, that’s all.”

He left the screen open in front of the fireplace, allowing all of the heat to fill the room. 

Mickey flipped him off and walked to the kitchen to see what was in the boxes.

“To answer your question, I guess someone could see the smoke, but since we’re the only two up here right now, aside from the men up the hill, it doesn’t really matter. No one can see it from town – we’re too far away.”

There was a lantern burning on the kitchen counter now.  The boxes the men had brought were filled with toiletries and food, all of which were lining the counters, waiting to be put away.

“How in the world did all of this happen?  We just left the club a few hours ago, and we wake up this morning to a stockpile of supplies – how did that happen?”  Mickey was amazed at the internal communication system this town had.

“You know how it is, Mickey.  When you run an illegal bootlegging business that’s been raided by the Feds at least twice before, you put plans in place to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”  Ian laughed, “Ironic, isn’t it?”

They put supplies away and began to make some breakfast. 

“There are clean clothes in one of the other rooms, if you want to go get cleaned up.” Ian offered. 

“You had them stock clothes for us too?” Mickey asked, giving Ian an odd look.

“No.  My family’s up here eight months out of the year - Carl, Lip… they stay here too. I’m sure they have something in there that’ll fit you.  I’d offer you some pants or something, but…” 

Ian pointed a single finger up and down Mickey’s body as if to show Mickey his lacking height, then ran both of his open hands along his own body as if to demonstrate the clear difference in their sizes.

“Yeah, ok, you fucking giant.  I get it.  I’ll go see what I can find.” 

Ian was right.  There were plenty of clothes to choose from in the first room he went to.  He found several pairs of overalls in a drawer, but there was no fucking way he was dressing like some Farmer Tom.  He kept looking and finally found a pair of worn jeans and a clean flannel shirt that fit well enough.  The shirt was a little snug, but it would work as long as he kept his undershirt on and the flannel unbuttoned.   He walked back to the kitchen in time for the hot coffee to be done.

Ian busted up laughing as Mickey came into the room.

“What’s so funny, Freckles?” Mickey asked as he poured two cups of hot coffee for them.

“Are those Fiona’s clothes?”

“No, these aren’t Fiona’s fucking…“

Mickey stopped talking.  He realized that aside from the fancy dress attire Fiona wore at the club, he seldom saw her wearing any other dresses at all.  She wore overalls or jeans most days, just like the rest of the Gallaghers, and…

“Fucking hell!  Are you fucking kidding me?” 

He pulled off the flannel shirt and held it out in front of him to get a better look.  In the dark bedroom he hadn’t been able to tell that it was striped plaid with a pink and green pattern which was now clear in the light of the kitchen.  Ian was bent over the counter laughing.

“Ok, wise guy.  Shut the fuck up.  I couldn’t see shit in that room, I didn’t know it was her closet.”

He pulled the buttons open on the jeans and slid them down his legs, freezing balls be damned. Ian struggled to bring his giggles under control, quickly shutting up when Mickey reached over and slugged him in the arm. 

“Ow, fuck… Good thing you didn’t grab that lacy pink dress she keeps in there, I guess.”  Ian joked, “On second thought, that actually might be fun to see.”

“Fuck you, I’m not wearing a dress for you.”  Mickey headed to a different room, now wearing only his boxers and undershirt again, in search of new clothes.

“Seriously, though Mick.  You do have really nice legs.”  Ian called after him.

“Fuck you, Gallagher. Keep it up and I’m gonna kick your ass when I get back.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.”  Ian laughed.

“Fuck you!” Mickey yelled, slamming the bedroom door behind him.


	56. Mess of Freckles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare your brain for errors! Sorry - Super busy and trying to knock a few chapters out before I get busier!

“I think we’re wasting our fucking time here, to be honest.”  Muse complained. 

They had slept in their car again, freezing their asses off all night, and now were stuck on the side of the main road where they could watch Sullivan wander from shop to shop around town.

“What the fuck is he doing anyway? He’s been walkin’ around for two fucking hours while we sit here and freeze our balls off.”

Iggy adjusted his hat over his face, blocking out the ray of sun that was breaking through.

“Jesus, Muse, I don’t give a fuck what he’s doing.  Tommy said to stay on him, so we sit.” 

“Well, I’m fucking starving.  Let’s at least go grab something to eat.”  Muse reached for the door handle.

“What exactly is your plan if … no _when_ he makes us?  You just planning on telling him we’re here for a nice winter getaway?”

“Fuck that – he’s walked past our car three times and hasn’t even noticed us sitting here.  That piece of shit can’t even cop right any more.  I’m hungry.  Let’s go before he comes out of that store.”

***

At first glance the Barton Consignment shop appeared to be closed, but Sullivan wiggled the door knob and was surprised when the door opened up.  A little bell overhead gave him away, but no one came out.

Mrs. Barton was in the back room.  She’d seen him walking the streets all morning, just as she saw everything else that took place on the main road.  She had also caught sight of him and Lip heading over to the diner – Lip hadn’t looked too pleased – so when he started making his way toward her store, she turned off the lights and went to the back room.  Unfortunately, locking the front door had slipped her mind.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

She stayed quiet hoping he would give up and leave, but he started walking around the store, looking at the odds and ends on her shelves.  She knew he wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon, and nosy as he was, he was likely to make his way to her sooner or later.

“Oh, hello there.” She called out sweetly, bending over a bit as she walked and feigning a frailty she’d never felt a day in her life. She tapped her ear with her finger, “I’m sorry – I was in back and I didn’t hear the bell.”

Sullivan stepped up, reaching out his hand to her.  The energy between them was electric, making Mrs. Barton pull back quickly for a moment as if startled.  She looked at his hand like it was a weapon pointed at her, then slowly reached to meet it.

He only touched her a second, two at most, but fear flashed through Mrs. Barton as she felt, more than saw, a gun he was holding out in front of him - a vision.  She pulled her hand back quickly, shaking it away. 

“Are you ok?  Need to sit down?”  He asked, noticing as she stepped away from him.

“Yes, maybe I should.” He followed to help her, but she shooed him away, “No no… you stay there.  I can manage.”

Her hands were shaking now. She pulled at the knitted shawl nervously. 

“How can I help you today?” She asked at last.

“Oh, allow me to introduce myself.  I’m Special Agent Sullivan, here in town looking for a little information. My partner, Mikhailo Milkovich was in the area recently.  I’ve been trying to meet up with him for several days now but I just seem to keep missing him.  Perhaps you’ve seen him around?”

“You have some ID on you?”  She asked.

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and held it open for her to see his badge.  Taking a deep breath in, she reached a shaking hand forward.

“Let’s get a look at that, shall we?” 

Her finger brushed the brass as he handed it over and an immediate visceral reaction chilled her blood and sent her mind reeling.  Pictures of a dark haired man dead in the snow with blood all around – a stretcher carrying a body covered in a sheet with a red tuft of hair sticking out the top – a fire and screaming and…

Mrs. Barton dropped the badge and grabbed at her heart.  Her eyes darted to the man, wide and scared, then she began waving him away.

“No! No!  I don’t know who you’re looking for!  You must go now!” 

She stood from her seat fully upright now, no longer pretending to be the fragile women she’d first appeared as. Fear ran through her, but she didn’t let it steal her courage.  She pointed to the door. 

“Get out!  Get out before I call the police!  Get out!”

Sullivan grabbed his badge from the floor, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. 

“I just wanted to ask a-“

 ** _“OUT!! OUT!!”_** She screamed at him again and again as she grabbed an umbrella from beside the counter and started swinging it in his direction.

“Ok, I’m going! I’m going!”

He made it just outside the door as she took a swing at him.  The minute his foot was out, she slammed the door shut and locked it tight, glaring at him through the glass.

“What the hell was that about?” He said to no one in particular as he took a step further away from the door.

A kid passing by waved to her in the window and answered his question unsolicited, “Oh, Mrs. Barton? She’s nuts.  She yells at everyone.”

Sullivan took a last look, keeping his eyes on her as he walked away quickly.

***

The sign on the Outfitter store read “Closed for Lunch” but the back office was filled with Gallway’s top heads.  Everyone rushed over the minute word went out that Fiona called an emergency meeting.   Carl was the last to arrive, coming in through the back door, locking it tight behind him. 

“Ok, looks like we’re all here.  I’m gonna go ahead and turn this over to Lip right away so we don’t waste any time.”  Fiona said, stepping aside to let Lip take front and center of the room.  He went straight to the heart of the matter.

“I need to know if anyone here had someone in their stores today asking questions about Ian or Mickey.”  Several townies raised their hands, with mumbled responses of “Didn’t tell ‘im anything” “had nothing to say to him” “who’s Ian and Mickey?”

“Ok, good.  Let’s keep it that way.  As far as he’s concerned Ian’s gone out of town for work until Spring, but here’s the deal – this guy is here looking for Mickey, claims Mickey's in a lot of trouble, wanted for murder and on the run from the Feds.”

A worried rush of whispers went through the room. 

“Ok, wait – let’s get something straight right now.  Fiona and I have already talked to Mickey about all of this.  He’s not the one who committed any crime here.  It’s the other way around, and I need to make sure all of you are clear on this.  I don’t want this guy trying to send mixed messages out through the town.  I need to make sure everyone understands, so you aren’t out there giving up information you shouldn’t be giving.”

The crowded room nodded. Many of them had been in situations in the past where they had depended on the trust of the town for their own survival.  They had all come to trust Fiona and Lip with their lives and their families lives.  In doing so, they had survived some hard times, so if Lip and Fiona said they had their stories straight, and that Mickey was innocent, then that’s what they were going to believe. 

“But that’s not why we’re here.”  Lip said.

He tapped the floor nervously with the toe of his boot, trying to decide how much needed to be revealed, and finally settling on everything. 

“This guy’s name is Sullivan, he’s a Federal Agent from Chicago.  Says he knows that Mickey’s in town and if we don’t hand him over, he’s gonna blow the whistle on us – bring down the whole town for production and distribution of a controlled substance and tax evasion.”

As expected, the room turned to nervous chatter again. 

“Hey!  I need everyone to listen first!”  Fiona called out loudly.  “Let's not go straight to panic mode. Listen to Lip for a minute, please.” 

It was another 30 seconds or so before everyone’s eyes were back on Lip and the room was quiet again.

“So here’s the deal.  Somehow, he knew about the mines. I don’t know how much he knows, but he caught sight of communication from the mines this morning, and apparently this guy knows Morse code enough to know there was a coded message going on, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.  He told me if we don’t give him Mickey within 24 hours, he’s coming in back with a team to close us down.”  Lip held his hand up immediately to silence the grumbling group.

“Carl.  Tomorrow afternoon you’re gonna take him up the mountain to the cabins.  That was all the time I was able to buy – I used the excuse that the road is closed from snow and hasn’t been plowed yet.  With any luck, we’ll get some more snow tonight to make it that much harder to get there.”

Lip looked around the room, “Gerald, where’s your boy today?” 

“Max? He’s watching the shop for me.  Watcha need?  I’ll get him down here.”  Gerald moved, ready to go deliver Lips message to his son.

“He took tourists up the Aspen Trail with Ian all summer, right?  I need him to head up there today. Tell him to stay off the main road and get a message to Ian.  I’d send it through the mines but with Sullivan watching I’d just feel better not doing that right now.”

“Yeah, sure.  I’ll get him over here right away.”  Carl unlocked the back door for Gerald to leave.

“Ok, everyone else, I need ears and eyes on every person in town.  I know we have a shitload of visitors here today, but anything unusual, you tell me or Fiona immediately.”

Before the day had ended, Lip had identified both Iggy and Muse as possible issues.  They weren’t exactly the incognito type, following Sullivan around town, and while Lip didn’t know exactly how they were connected to Mickey, he put his money on them being tied to the mob.  Sullivan, busy with all his questions and queries into town business was still none the wiser to either of the two men following him.  Like all the rest of the Feds, Lip decided that made him a fucking idiot.

He caught up with Fiona just as she was closing up shop and heading home to get ready for the real work of the night.

“Lip, my god, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m here, what’s up?”

“Mrs. Owens came by to tell me Mrs. Barton was at the diner, very upset earlier, so I stopped by to talk to her.  She said Sullivan was in her store looking for information about Mickey.”

Lip rolled his eyes.  He’d completely forgotten to tell someone to tell Crazy Mrs. Barton to stay locked up for the day.

“Great, what the fuck did that crazy –“

“LIP!”  Fiona warned.

“Fine… what did she say to him?”

“Not a thing.  She threw him out of her shop and went to the diner crying hysterically until I got there.  Apparently, she had one of her visions.”

“Come on, Fiona!  How many fucking times are you gonna keep letting her do this shit?  She’s nuts.  You know it and I know it. Hell, the entire town knows it.”

“Lip, she saw the boys.  Dead.”

Fiona’s words shut him down.  He shook his head and looked around the street toward the dark consignment shop.  Mrs. Barton had been telling fortunes and ‘seeing’ things his entire life.  She had known his family for generations, and just four days before his mother’s funeral, he had overheard Mrs. Barton trying to warn her to get help or she wouldn’t live to see her children grow. 

Lip had only been a small boy then, and he hadn’t understood his mother’s illness or how it stole her from them, but four days later they buried her.  From that day on he feared Mrs. Barton, though he would never admit it. He stayed away from her at all costs, and never gave her an ounce of credibility no matter how many times she might be right about things.  It was all hocus pocus bullshit – none of it was real.

“Fiona, I’m not gonna start with her bullshit. The lady claims to talk to fucking ghosts for crying out loud.”

“Lip.  How many times has she been wrong about something?”

He let out a huff and shook his head, “All the fucking time.”

“You know it and I know it.  She never says shit to anyone unless she’s right.”  Fiona waited for him to listen, but instead he walked away shaking his head.

“I’m not fucking doing this.  We have enough to deal with right now.  I don’t have fucking time to worry about some crazy bitch who thinks she sees shit, Fiona!  She’s making it up!”

He got in his truck and slammed the door, then drove off before she could say more.

***

Ian and Mickey had spent the day snowshoeing around the mountain, setting traps for fowl.  It was exhausting work, walking in the wooden racket shaped gear Ian had strapped to Mickey’s feet, but once he got the hang of it he had enjoyed it.  By nightfall they managed to catch four grouse and two doves in the traps, which Ian taught Mickey to properly dress.  It tasted wild, unlike anything Mickey had eaten before, but he loved it. He wondered how much more there was to learn about life in these mountains. 

The climb through the mountainside was almost a perfect way for him to keep his mind off the dangers lurking just a few miles down the road.   Almost.  That thought never fully left his mind, no matter how many times Ian reassured him that they were safe. Now dinner was done and there was little to do locked up in the cabin but to explore the many rooms he hadn’t seen before. 

Mickey opened bedroom doors and closets and drawers, poking his nose into everything, asking Ian questions each time he came across some odd little trinket that was either out of place in a mountain cabin, or that he’d never seen before.  Ian sat in the living room, drinking a beer, listening to Mickey yell to him from each room he explored.

“Holy shit!  Is this you?” 

Mickey came in the living room a moment later carrying two framed photos.  One photo was of all the Gallagher children and two parents – Ian appeared to be about 6 or 7 years old.  The other was of the three Gallaghers boys, standing in front of the main cabin.  Ian looked to be about 10 years younger than he was now.

“Oh shit, I forgot about those.  Let’s see.”  He moved over on the sofa making room for Mickey. “That’s my mom.”  Ian said, a touch of melancholy in his voice.

“Pretty lady.”

“Yeah.  Beautiful on the outside, batshit crazy on the inside.”  His voice sounded regretful, but he quickly moved on, pointing at the baby his mother was holding, “That’s Carl, and the little girl next to them is Debbie.  You’ll meet her when she’s home from school for the holidays”

Mickey pointed to the chubby little boy with wild curly hair all over his head.  Even in a black and white photo, it was clear the little boy's skin was a frightful mess of freckles. 

“And this guy… that’s you?”

“God, what a mess I was.”  He chuckled as he ran his finger back and forth across the face of Little Ian, as if to erase it from the photos. “Look at all those freckles. I fucking hate them.”

Mickey spun his head to look at Ian like he’d just said something so unbelievably crazy.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No! Shit, just look at me.” 

He held his arms out in front of him to show the millions of freckles that still existed, mixing together so closely that they now just made up his skin tone. Mickey reached out and caressed one arm with his hand.

“I fucking love them.” He said quietly.

“You can’t be serious, Mickey!”  Ian laughed.

Mickey smacked Ian’s arm out of the way and pointed to the second photo. 

“When was that picture taken?”

“That was actually just about 8 years ago.  Lip is 21 there, so I would have been 19, I guess.  God, look how skinny I was.  And Carl!  Shit, that kid stopped growing when he was like 15 and never started again. Don’t tell him I said that.” 

Mickey’s eyes stayed on the 19-year-old Ian in the photo. He would have loved growing up with him, learning all these mountaineering skills alongside of him, helping him plant his Aspen Trail. Something in Mickey longed to turn back time so that he could come here sooner and find him all those years ago. He wanted all that time with him and more.

“I wish I’d known you sooner.” They were Ian’s words, mirroring Mickey’s thoughts. 

Mickey looked at him strangely as if Ian had just read his mind. 

“I wish I could have those years with you here, you know – just growing up wi… what?  Was that stupid?  Do you think that’s a dumb thing?”  Ian asked, noticing the strange look Mickey was giving him.

Mickey shook his head. 

“No.  I don’t.”  He wanted to say more, to tell Ian he wanted all of that and more, but the minute he opened his mouth someone began banging loudly at the back door making them both jump.

Mickey reached for one of the pistols they had sitting on the table as Ian went to open the back door. 

“Who’s there?” Ian yelled through the heavy wooden door.

“Ian.  It’s Max.  Let me in, it’s freezing out here!”

Ian unlocked the door to find his summer intern standing out in the dark, covered in snow.  He was bundled in snow gear, with goggles and ski sticks which he had used to aid him in his hike.  He reached down to unlatch the snowshoes from his feet.

“Max, what are you doing here?”  Ian asked, brushing the snow from his jacket.  Max handed him the snowshoes to hang inside the door.

“Lip sent me – up the trail.  They’re coming, Ian.  You two need to be out of here by morning.  That Fed guy is coming for Mickey.”

Mickey became frantic, pacing once again like a caged animal.  The snow had started up again, and he knew the only road out was blocked in by snow and barriers. Ian on the other hand seemed as cool as could be as he took Max’s jacket and gloves to hang.

“What else did he tell you?”

“Said Carl was bringing him up if the snow allowed.  Also, there’s two other men in town, dumb as shit, talking to everyone all over town. They’ve been asking about someone named Hank or Hammer.”

Mickey perked up to attention at the mention of Hammer. 

“What did they look like?”  He asked.

Max shook his head, “Never saw them. Just heard Lip and Fiona talking about them. Why?  You know who this Hammer fella is they’re looking for?”

Mickey nodded.  Ian already knew the whole story so he didn’t ask anything more.

“Max, why don’t you go find something dry to put on, then come on out and grab something to eat.  You must be starving.” 

Max disappeared into one of the rooms and Ian went back to sitting on the sofa as if nothing had happened.

“Ian?  What the fuck are you doing?  We need to leave.”  Mickey was standing in front of him pointing at the door, wondering why the fuck they were still sitting there.

“Mick, come,” He patted the seat beside him, but Mickey didn’t move. Ian sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, peeking up at Mickey.  “Lip’s not sending him with Carl.  It’s snowing again, the road is blocked, and they’ll use the excuse that the trucks can’t get through.  We have some time.  Besides, I was never planning on taking you back into town if he came looking for you.  We’ll go up the mountain.  But for now, we stay.”

Max was back in the room, standing at the fire and rubbing his hands vigorously to warm up.  Ian went to make him a dish of food, grabbing him a beer as well.

“How old are you this year, Max?”

“17, but 18 next month!”  He said, eyeing the beer.

“Fuck if you are.  You were 17 last year when I asked you the same question.  Just one.”  Ian handed him the beer and the plate of food.  “Did you have any trouble coming up the trail?”

“No, none at all.  You mapped it out perfectly.  Another year or two and we should be able to get those last trees planted.”  Max sat by the fire and ate his dinner.

“We’re heading to bed.  Make sure this is tied down before you turn in, ok?” 

Ian reached for Mickey’s hand and led him toward their room. The door had barely clicked closed behind them when Ian pulled Mickey back to him.  He could see Mickey was anxious and needed to be reassured. 

“Mickey, I got this, ok?  You’re safe here.”

Mickey’s shook his head slowly, not understanding how that was even possible. 

“Ian.  Those are Terry’s men down there. They ain’t gonna do things by the books like the Feds might.  They ain’t gonna just try to shut down your little operation you got going here in order to get to me.  They’ll butcher this whole fucking town.”

Ian couldn’t guarantee that Mickey wasn’t right. He didn’t know anything about Terry’s men, but he knew his town and he knew his brothers. The plan was to keep Mickey safe and he knew the town would do what they needed to do to make that happen.

“Let’s let Lip and Fiona deal with that, ok? My job is to make sure you’re safe.  That’s all we’re talking about right now.  Come on.  Let’s get to bed.  We might be up early, need to sleep.”

He crawled under the covers and waited for Mickey to do the same.  Mickey stood in the dark, completely dumbfounded.  Nothing made sense any more.

*** 

***** I kinda feel like I should leave it here for a minute while I catch up on a few other things... *****


	57. Sunrise Symphony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not midnight yet... and technically still the weekend!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. Juggling a new schedule, and finally getting a grip on when I have free time (<\--Overstatement... there isn't any!). I'll update again this week.

Ian was up before dawn, building fires to warm the cabin and getting the coffee going.  He unbolted the front door and swept away the fresh snow that had blown onto the porch, clearing the steps.  The sun was still hiding behind the mountain, but he could see the slightest hints on sunrise not far off.  It would only be a few more minutes before the sun would begin to peek over the mountain, casting its blue and pink light onto the fresh fallen snow and the lake. 

He went inside and poured two hot cups of coffee, adding a generous amount of whiskey to each glass, then set them on the table.  Next he went into the room where Mickey was still sound asleep under mounds of blankets and crawled carefully onto the bed.  Lying his body over Mickey’s back, Ian began kissing along his shoulders to wake him. 

“Mick… Mickey… wake up…” he said softly.

Mickey wiggled beneath him and sighed, still too sleepy to open his eyes.

Ian nuzzled his lips against Mickey’s ear, speaking quietly, “Mick, I want you to see something… wake up.”

“Fuck off.” He grumbled.

Ian left soft slow kisses along his jaw, down his neck, taking time to suck and bite his pale skin as he went.  He put his hand under the blanket, running it up and down Mickey’s back hoping to stir him. 

“Come on, Mick… you’re gonna love it… open your eyes…”

“Seen your dick already.  Impressive.  Now let me sleep.” 

Mickey pulled the pillow over his head.  Ian lifted the pillow and tucked his own head underneath it to whisper in Mickey’s ear.

“Not my dick, but thanks for the compliment.  Come on… Miiiiiiick… come on, baby… wake up…”

Mickey stretched his limbs out underneath Ian and groaned loudly.

“Fuuuuck, I fucking hate you in the morning.”  He reached back and slapped Ian’s leg to make him move, then rolled up to a sitting position, taking a minute to get his bearings. “Where’d you put my boxers?”

“You don’t need them.” 

Ian grabbed one of the giant quilts from the bed and held it up as if to wrap Mickey in it.

“The fuck do you mean, I don’t need them?  That kid still here?  If he is, then I need them.” 

Mickey rubbed his eyes and yawned, feeling the soft material of his boxers hit his head, followed by the jeans he had been wearing.

“Hey! Stop fucking throwing shit at me or I’m going back to bed.”

“Ok, ok, but you have to move faster, Mick.  Come on, chop chop!  This is only gonna last like five more minutes, ten at most.” 

He tossed Mickey a shirt he found on the floor, not knowing if it had been one of his own or Mickey’s.

“The hell are we doing anyway?”

Mickey slipped his socks on then reached for his boots, but Ian grabbed his arm and started pulling him to the door.

“No shoes. No time. Let’s go.”

Ian grabbed the hot coffees from the table, handing both of them to Mickey, then shooed him toward the door.

“Wait.  Are we going outside?  The hell did you tell me I didn’t need shoes for?”  Mickey protested as Ian pushed him out onto the porch.

“Damn, you’re grumpy in the morning.  Just… trust me.”

Ian pulled him over to the top step to sit, wrapping the giant quilt around both of them and taking extra time to tuck Mickey’s bare feet under the blanket.  He cuddled in close then took the extra cup of coffee back from Mickey.

“Did you just get me out of bed to sit here in the dark, to stare at _snow?_ ”  Ian leaned over and kissed Mickey’s temple, mussing his hair.

“Shhh… your grumpiness is gonna ruin it.  Just shut up and drink your coffee.”

Mickey closed his eyes and leaned his head on Ian’s shoulder, then took a sip of the hot liquid warming his hands. His eyes popped back open, pleasantly surprised when he tasted that secret ingredient Ian had added in there.  That made him a little less grumpy and willing to sit through Ian’s morning nonsense.

Then, it all started to happen, slowly, like a symphony.  

First, there was a twittering from the trees, almost unnoticeable at first, but then it began to build and sounded like dozens of invisible tiny flutes playing from the forest.  The sun peeked up over the ridge, turning the snow on the mountain side ten different shades of purple, blue, and pink.  The sky began to fade from a deep blackish blue as the sun breached the mountain, until finally it was washed in a perfect azure. 

Snow bunnies went running past, leaving tracks in the new snow of the yard in front of the cabin, along with squirrels who were brave enough to come out of the trees.  Some of them stopped to look at Ian and Mickey on the porch step before scurrying away quickly.  Ian pointed to the lake, crystal clear and calm where it wasn’t covered in snow, with occasional breaks in the water as the fish began to jump into the air.  He tightened his grip around Mickey with excitement as the mountain woke up and came to life around them.

Mickey noticed the many tracks that ran through the snow not far from where he and Ian were sitting, and followed them to the tree line where a herd of elk was making its way around the lake and into the woods. Just as Ian had said, it was over in less than ten minutes. Just like that, the quiet night had disappeared and the world around them was bright and lively again. Steam was coming off the lake as the sun warmed the surface of the water. It was already beginning to melt the thin layer of snow that had fallen over night.  Ian pointed to a shadowed piece of land about a quarter mile around the lake.

“See that spot over by that inlet?  When I die, I want to be buried there.”

“Well that’s a fuckin’ morbid thought.” Mickey joked.  “Why there?”

“It’s a perfect spot. It has a flat shore where you can build a fire to camp, or just sit and take a nap while you fish.  The trees shade the inlet through the hottest part of the day so you get a lot of good bites.  I’ve caught my best fish over there.  Plus, you can see the entire lake and campsite from there.  The sun rises over here, and in the evening you can watch it set again across the lake.”

He leaned in, nuzzling his cold nose into the warmth of Mickey’s hair. Ian wanted nothing more than to stay right here on this mountain with him.

“I was thinking about building a cabin there, so I can actually move up here like I was telling you.”

“I thought this was your cabin.” Mickey asked.

“This place?  No – this is the lodge.  What would I do with eleven bedrooms?”  He laughed.  “I was thinking three or four bedrooms, a nice big deck, maybe a boat dock. Just something small.”

“Pfft.. you Gallaghers don’t know the meaning of small. Four bedroods ain’t fuckin’ small. My entire place back in Chicago’s about the size of your bedroom.  Tiny, with worn out floors and bad plumbing, fucking freeze your ass all winter long because the radiator doesn’t work for shit.  The kitchen’s exactly big enough for the sink, stove and an icebox.  Shit, I’d trade it in a heartbeat for one of these cabins you call small out here.  This place… this place is something else.”  Mickeys said.

He looked around at the ‘small’ cabins on Ian’s giant mountain.  This was Ian’s home.  This mountain was Ian’s happiness and where his heart lived.  Mickey sipped his coffee and took it all in, watching the peaceful beauty of it all, Ian included. 

“Do you think you could ever leave this place?” he asked cautiously.

Ian’s head automatically shook no, but his words were contrary.

“If I have to, I will.” Ian answered.

His arm tightened just a bit around Mickey. They sat silently in the cold morning air a few minutes longer.  Ian wondered if he would stay in Gallway Falls and grow old to be buried on that lake shore, or if the time would soon come when he would leave to some new place with Mickey. 

Mickey wondered something else entirely. 

“Do you think there’d be room in that cabin for two of us?” 

***

Snow days were usually early starts for the Gallagher house. The men were generally bundled and in their trucks before the sun was up, clearing roads all the way to the main highway and up to the mountain mines. After that, they’d spend the rest of the day shoveling sidewalks on the main stretch of town so that visitors could easily get around, while Fiona looked after things in town. But that particular day, the Gallagher’s hadn’t even left the house yet and it was already eight in the morning. 

Fiona had sent Lip out the night before to take down the small Gallway Falls sign that hung off Hwy 34 – the same sign Mickey had seen the first day he came to town.   The sign was easily removed and tossed into a nearby bush to be covered in snow, essentially cloaking the town from newcomers if they didn’t already know where to turn off the main highway.  That had been step one in the plan. 

Step two was shutting down the town.  Most of the stores on the main road were to remain closed until further notice.  Fiona wanted any stray visitors in town to pack up and head out, but they wouldn’t do that if there was shopping or food to be had.

Steps #3 was much more detailed.  A crew of men had stayed at the club overnight to clear it out.  Extra cases of hooch were brought in and stacked along the walls to make it appear to be an old, closed warehouse. Several old still parts that were stored in the cellar were brought up into the main ballroom, while the velvet and leather tables and chairs had been packed up into a semi-truck and taken out of town.  Right about the time the Gallaghers were having their morning coffee, that semi-truck was safely parked someplace behind a hotel down in Denver.  The final step in preparing the club was getting carl to rig the back entrance with dynamite in case the situation called for an emergency divergence. Until further notice the club was essentially shut down for business. 

Every step beyond three would depend heavily on whatever happened next in this Mickey saga that was about to play out.

Lip took a look out the window trying to assess how much more time they could avoid going into town.  The sun was out again, and was likely to start melting the few inches of snow they’d gotten overnight.  He reminded himself to relax…They were ready for this, even if they weren’t too sure what _this_ was just yet. 

The phone rang, startling everyone from their trance.  Lip answered it on the extension in the back office.  Fiona sat up, listening for signs of alarm as he spoke.  He came back into the kitchen a few minutes later carrying his jacket and keys.

“Carl, let’s get moving.  That was Mrs. Owens over at the diner.  She said there are a few men over at the diner having coffee.  Maybe cops or Feds or whatever the fuck they are.  Not the same guys we pegged yesterday.” 

Fiona was off her chair and heading to get ready to leave as well, with Jimmy following close behind. 

“Did she catch any of their conversation?”  She asked.

“Yeah.   She said they mentioned Clayton.  I’m guessing he wasn’t fucking around when he said he called the Feds, as if we don’t have enough shit on our plate today.”

Fiona came back in the kitchen, the cogs in her brain turning. 

“You think that guy Sullivan is with them as well?  I mean, shit, he said he was coming back with a team if we didn’t hand Mickey over.  These Feds are coming at us from every angle, is there any chance they’re all together, or are we trying to fight ten different wars here?”

Lip shook his head, “I don’t know, Fiona.  How ‘bout we get our asses into town and find out.”  He nodded at Carl who had returned bundled for the cold. “You’re on road duty.  Too late to keep them out, might as well try to keep everyone safe in town.”  Lip headed for the back door, “Oh, and Carl.  Don’t go anywhere near the mine road.”

“Yeah, I know.  I’m not stupid.” 

***

Mrs. Owens refilled each coffee cup slowly.  She had the same warm smile she offered to all of her customers, but contrary to other customers, her ears were perked and alert to the conversation taking place at the table. Three men wearing suit and ties and driving a black sedan – They weren’t the type of clientele that came to Gallway for coffee in the morning, and she knew it, so she listened for any information she could pass on to Lip. 

Just as she stepped from their table, Gallway’s #2 in command himself walked through the door.  He took a stool at the front counter where he could see the table of men sitting at the other end of the diner.  None of them gave Lip more than a glance when he walked through the door. At least that meant if they knew Phillip Gallagher’s name, they still didn’t know what he looked like, and Lip was grateful for that.

“Anything?”  He asked Mrs. Owens as she poured him a cup of hot coffee.  She smiled and passed a piece of paper from the note pad she used to take orders.  There were rough notes scribbled.

“This was all I could get.”

Lip read the words – _warehouse, Frank Gallagher, 2 nd road left._

“That’s it, huh?”

“I think they hush up every time I get too close.” She shrugged, leaving Lip to his coffee. 

From the vague notes she had given him, Lip could only hope that their information was as limited as it appeared.  Maybe they were just there to scope out the town on a hunch.  If that was the case, things at the mines were easily concealed, but Lip wasn’t that optimistic.  If Clayton was involved, they knew more than just these few things Mrs. Owens had jotted down.  Lip tossed a few coins onto the counter for the coffee and headed for the Outfitter.  Once again, he noticed none of the men gave any attention to him leaving.


	58. Last Resort Plans

Carl started plowing at the far end of Main Street, in front of Sheila’s house, lowering the steel plow onto the street and pushing the truck into 1st gear.  He had gone less than twenty feet when a man jumped out of a parked sedan and came running to stand right into the truck’s path.  Carl slammed the brakes, feeling the truck slide a foot or so on the ice before stopping.  He jumped from the truck, already yelling at the man who was standing in snow eight inches deep, waving his arms wildly.

“Are you out of your mind!  I could have hit you!”  Carl screamed.

The guy took a step back away from Carl, slipping in the snow and falling onto his ass. He tried to push himself up, reaching a hand out to Carl for help which was quickly ignored.  Once back up on his feet, he wiped the snow from his slacks and hands and tried his introduction again.

“Carl Gallagher, right?”

“Who’s asking?” Carl gave him a suspicious once over.  Sullivan held his hand out to shake.

“Mark Sullivan - FBI.  I spoke with your brother Phillip Gallagher yesterday.”  Carl once again ignored Sullivan’s hand, which was quickly pulled back when he realized Carl was as hesitant to be of any assistance to him as Lip had been.

“Phillip said you would be taking me up the mountain today.  I’m looking for someone, might be hiding out up there – you know about any of this?”

Carl’s face was poker straight, “Nope.  Lip didn’t tell me anything about that.  Snow’s got the road closed, so that’s not happening today anyway.”

“Lip?”

“Phillip… Lip… Gallagher.”  Carl turned to get into his truck, but Sullivan was moving just as quick to get into the passenger side.  “The fuck do you think you’re doing?  Get out of my truck!”

“Can’t do that, sorry.  Listen, I told your brother yesterday that I needed full cooperation on this, and I have no doubt he already talked to you about who I’m looking for. It’s either Milkovich or Gallway, so what’s it gonna be?”  He tipped his head at Carl waiting for Carl to play along.  He knew Phillip – Lip – had to have said something.  There was no way they were going to sacrifice the entire town for one person, an outsider at that.

Carl started the truck up, “I’m not fucking waiting for you to get your shit, so if you freeze to death in my truck today that’s on you.” 

Sullivan realized he had come jumped from his car leaving behind his overcoat, gun, and badge. He was shit out of luck if he thought for a second Carl was going to wait for him to go back for them. 

Carl put the truck in drive and began pushing snow off the road as originally planned, going slow and steady, making it a point to drag the job out as long as possible. The sun was doing most of the work, and he knew that soon enough the road to the mines would be mostly clear without any help from him, but he was going to do his best to delay that trip as long as possible.

They drove up and down side streets of town, clearing more roads than Carl had intended in the first place.  He kept the heat of the truck turned off as they went, leaving Sullivan frozen and shivering in his seat.   When Sullivan had reached for the heat once, Carl immediately turned it off using the excuse that the engine would overheat if they turned it on.  It was the only Fuck You card he had to play at the moment, and he was planning on playing it out as long as he could. With any luck, Sullivan would die of hypothermia while they cleared the roads.  Unfortunately the warm Colorado sun was doing well enough to not only keep Sullivan from dying but also melting the snow down faster than Carl had hoped.

***

Fiona was ringing up a couple winter jackets and scarves for two visitors when Lip came walking in. 

“Hey, you seen Carl?  He should have been down Main by now.”

Lip nodded a greeting to the men at the counter, making note of their unfamiliar faces as he walked passed. 

“Nope, probably fucking around, hoping the sun’ll do his job for him.”

Fiona handed a few dollar bills and change back to one of the customers.  “Ok, you’re all set. You need a bag for these?”

The men in front of her were hardly dressed for the storm that had come in, so she wasn’t surprised at all when they said they would wear the jackets out of the store.

“You got a phone in town we can use?  Need to make a long distance call.  I can pay you.” One of the men asked.

Lip gave him a long look which was returned in kind, both of them sizing the other up.  Fiona, ever the diplomat offered a warm smile instead.

“Sure.  There’s one in the back office.  Not too sure if the long distance operator is on yet, but you can try.” Her eyes fell on the second man as he started looking around the store a bit more, stopping at the gun counter.  “Lip, you wanna show him to the phone?”

Fiona turned her attention back to the man at the gun counter, “Anything I can show you?”

Iggy had his eyes on a rifle on the back wall, “Can I see that one?”  She pulled it from the wall, checking to make sure the barrel was empty before handing it over.

“Planning on doing some hunting while you’re here?  Got some nice Elk up in the hills.” She wasn’t getting a good vibe from these men, but she couldn’t put her finger on what the problem was exactly. 

“No. Just uh… hanging out.”  Iggy handed the gun back to her.  “I could use some ammo though.  You got any hollow points?”  He pulled a .38 Special from his back waistband and set it on the counter, alarming Fiona for just second.  She shook it off quickly.  Everyone in Gallway had a gun, and while not everyone was in the habit of carrying them around town, it wasn’t unusual, but she just couldn’t shake the nervous feeling these two men were giving her.

Lip walked up at that moment, “I got it, Fi.”  She nodded and smiled at the man, then excused herself as Lip took over.

“Here you go.” He set a box of bullets on the counter. Unlike Fiona, Lip knew who this man was, and his partner in the back room as well.  They had been tagged the day before, and while Lip hadn’t seen them until now, he had recognized the car parked on the side of the Outfitter when he’d walked up. 

“Let me get 2 boxes.”  Iggy said, pulling his wallet to pay.

“You planning on doing some target shooting?” Lip asked, as he reached for another box of bullets.

Iggy smiled at him.  Lip didn’t smile back.  He knew he was asking too many questions.  Iggy didn’t answer.

“Heard you had some cabins for rent, up the mountain, with a lake.  Thought we’d get some fishing in while we’re here.”  Iggy kept his eyes on Lip.

“You might be interested in a fishing pole instead of bullets then.  Cabins are closed for the season, sorry.  Whoever mentioned them to you should have told you that.  The lake’s probably frozen over as well.” Lip rang up the two boxes and put them in a small brown bag, handing them to Iggy with his change.

“Oh?  Ok. It was just some kid in town who mentioned it.  Guess I should have asked in here before I got my hopes up, huh?”  He took the bag, eyes on Lip again.  This cat and mouse game was getting boring.  “You wouldn’t happen to have anyone staying up there now would you?”

Lip tipped his head and raised his brows, bored with the inquiry.  “Just said the cabins are closed for the season.  The roads are closed, can’t even get up there.”

“All right, all right.  Well listen.  I’m trying to find a buddy of mine. Name’s Hank – Henry Donati – goes by Hammer sometimes. Just thought maybe he might have been through here.  Seems like the kind of place he might be, you know?”

“What kind of place is that exactly?”  Lip asked.

Iggy couldn’t read this guy.  He could tell Lip was protecting something, but wasn’t sure it had anything at all to do with Hammer.  “You know. Quiet.  Nice place to hibernate for a while.  Anyway, you seen him around?  Big guy, six and a half feet tall, blonde hair, looks like this all the time.”  He gave Lip a comical scowl meant to imitate Hammer’s everyday face.

Lip didn’t react.  “Nope, never heard of him.”  Lip recognized the name Hammer from Ian’s long-winded story the other morning but it never dawned on him that someone might be in town looking for anyone other than Mickey.

Muse walked out from the back room, “You ‘bout ready?”  Iggy nodded, all the while keeping his eyes on Lip.  “Let’s go find some food, I’m starving.”

The front door closed behind them as they turned toward the diner.

“What the hell was that about?” Fiona asked as she watched them walk into the diner.  She spotted Carl’s truck about a block away, turning up a side street.  She had no idea what he was up to, but at this point she didn’t even care anymore.

“Those are the two guys we spotted yesterday, asking questions about Sullivan.  I thought they were here for him, but now they’re asking about some other guy – The one Mickey said tried to kill him.  I can’t keep track of the fucking shit going on in this town right now.”  Lip ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing to Ian and Mickey at the cabin.  “I need to send word up to the mines.  I think it’s time for Ian and Mickey to move.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?  I mean, Sullivan’s already …”

“Fuck Sullivan.  I’m more concerned that Ian isn’t there if someone makes their way up the road.  Snow’s probably gonna be melted by the end of the day.”  Lip left the store, headed for the post office and one of the only two telegraph machines in town.  The other was at the top of the mountain.

Only minutes after Lip had gone Carl’s truck finally went driving past the Outfitter, pushing the snow along slower than necessary.  Fiona was seconds away from going out there to wave him down and give him an earful when she noticed the passenger in the cab of the truck.  She recognized Sullivan immediately. 

“Jesus Christ.” She said, throwing her hands up, then rubbing her eyes tiredly.  “This day just keeps getting better and better.”   She went to the phone, waiting just long enough for Lip to walk the distance to the post office and let himself in the locked doors before calling him there.

“Yeah.” He answered on the third ring.

“Did you see Carl just now?”

“No, why?” He unlocked the office where the telegraph was kept.  “What did he do?”

“Sullivan is riding along with him this morning.  Probably why he took his sweet ass time to clear the roads.”

“Shit.  I thought Sullivan left town.”  Lip said.

“Yeah, well, if he did, he came back.  Looks like we have house full of Feds in Gallway.  I don’t even know where to start with this bullshit right now.”  She didn’t generally lose track of a plan, but then again she didn’t generally have to keep track of a half dozen Feds before, and who knew how many Chicago gangsters running her streets.

“All, right.  Just… let’s just make sure Ian and Mickey are safe, then we’ll deal with whatever comes next.  Find Kev and let him know it’s time to triggered up the club as well.” Lip offered.

“You think?”  She asked, sitting up.  She knew that was a last resort move, but wasn’t sure they were already at that point.

“Yeah, those men were in the store when I got there, so I didn’t show you what Mrs. Owens gave me.  The Feds know there’s a warehouse, and I’m pretty sure the men I saw at the diner yesterday are here either because of either Clayton or Sullivan.  Either way, they’re here to shut us down.  If they’re gonna bust us, that’s where they’ll be looking.”

Fiona took a deep breath, then resolutely replied, “Ok.  Let’s get this over with.  I’ll start making calls.”

"Might be a good idea to call the Sheriff as well. We might need his help."


	59. Leprechaun Gold

“Clayton!  What the hell, man.  You shouldn’t be here.  Someone get Fiona on the line.” Kevin called out.

“Where is it?  Don’t lie to me!  I know that two timing weasel has it hidden here somewhere.  I just want what’s mine, fair and square, then I’ll leave.” 

Clayton stumbled on the uneven dirt floor in the cellar. At 6’1” Clayton stood taller than most of the Gallaghers, but he was still inches shorter than Kevin.  He puffed his chest out as if to appear intimidating, causing Kevin’s lips to curl upwards in an amused grin.  Clayton stood his ground, sure that the hidden treasure Frank and Fiona had stolen from him was stashed in the warehouse.

Tommy and Kermit came bouncing down the cellar steps and were now standing behind Clayton looking perplexed, silently asking Kevin what they should do. 

Clayton took two quick steps toward Kevin, giving him an ineffective shove to the right.  Kevin’s large frame barely veered before finally chuckling and giving in.

“Ok, all right… go.  Find your hidden Leprechaun gold or whatever the fuck you’re looking for. Good luck.”  He stepped to the side, letting Clayton pass, knowing damn well there was nothing of value in that cellar aside from a few cases of the real Gallagher gold – whiskey.

“What the hell is he doing here?”  Tommy asked as Clayton ran off in a frenzy. He help up a hand written note to get Kevin’s attention.

“Same shit, different day.  He came in here yelling about the deed to his gold mine. Swears we’re hiding it for Frank.”  Kevin looked at the paper that was handed to him, “What’s this?”

“Fiona said we’re moving forward with the plan. Kermit and I started stacking the hooch at the back door.  We should probably get his drunk ass out of here before we light this place up.” Tommy said, pointing in the direction Clayton had gone.

A loud crash of broken glass came from the back storage room, followed by curses and a howl of pain from Clayton. 

“How did he even get out here?” Kermit asked. “There’s no car parked out there.”

“I have no clue – probably walked in by the looks of his wet clothes.  Just… get him out of here.  Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll freeze to death going back down the hill.”

***

“You sure the bears are hibernating already?”  Mickey had asked this question twice, with the same answer each time, but it did nothing to appease his tension as he and Ian walked through the woods.

Mickey’s paranoia was all Ian’s fault.  Ian had pointed out fresh, deep bear claw marks that marked the hard bark of a tree, along with the bear tracks they had passed.  One of the muddy indentations clearly showed the 3 inch claws, and confirmed for Mickey that not all bears had settled in for their long winter’s nap. The minute the words had left his mouth, Ian could practically see the images that went flashing through Mickey’s head – images of claws digging deep into soft flesh, ripping them into pieces.  Ian had decided at that point not to mention the mountain lion at all.

Ian went for a new approach to answer his question this time.  “Most of the little ones are hibernating.  Some of the bigger ones can’t hibernate all winter without eating so they come out now and then.”

It wasn’t a complete lie actually.  He just didn’t think it was the best idea to tell Mickey hibernation season was really almost a month or two away.  Not now, while they were almost an hour hike from camp. Ian heard Mickey’s snow shoes moving faster than usual behind him as Mickey did his best to run and catch up. 

“Why the fuck are we out here?” his breath was heavy and winded, making Ian laugh. 

He stopped walking, now laughing too hard to answer. Mickey caught up to him and pushed him backwards, making Ian fall off balance into the snow.  Mickey was fed up with all the jokes from Ian, when a hungry grizzly could be stalking them.  All of it only made Ian laugh harder.  “I’m kidding… sort of…”

Mickey reached a hand out to help Ian back to his feet.  “Oh, shit, didn’t mean to actually push you into the snow,” he said as he helped brush the snow from Ian’s legs. “You’re still a fucking asshole for fucking with me, man.”

Ian was still chuckling a little when he caught a bright glint of light through a break in the trees.  His body stilled and the chuckling stopped as he waited for the signal to repeat itself as Mickey continued to brush snow from his body.  About thirty seconds later it did.

“Shit.  Mick, we gotta go.”

“What?  Go where? What the hell are you talking about?”  He looked around nervously expecting to see a grizzly or a mountain lion creeping up on them, but Ian had hold of his arm and started pulling him back along the trail they had just hiked. “Ian, stop! What the fuck is going on?”

“We need to get back to the cabin.” Ian pointed up at the break in the trees and waited again.  Seconds later the same message flashed off the snow-covered mountain.

“What the hell was that?”

“ _That_ is our cue to get our shit together and get out.  Let’s go.”  They moved fast down the trail they had forged, leaving both of them too winded to talk.  Ian moved with ease through the mountain, often waiting or reaching back to assist Mickey as he tried to keep up.  They were overheated and out of breath by the time they reached the cabin.  Ian discarded his snowshoes when the snow thinned near the cabins.  He tossed his jacket off mindlessly as he walked in the back door of the cabin.  Mickey sat at a bench to catch his breath as he finally removed his jacket and snowshoes. 

Max met Ian in the living room. “Did you see it?” Max asked, pointing toward where the signal would have come from.

“Yeah, any word here?”  Ian hadn’t seen any new tracks in the snow, by foot or car, so it was unlikely anyone else had come by the cabin.

“No, just the evac signal.”

“Ian, what’s going on here?”  Mickey stood there looking back and forth between Max and Ian, trying to make sense of all the secret messages that seemed to be going unspoken.

“That was an evacuation signal.  We need head up the mountain.”  Ian explained.

“Wait… why are we going _up_ the mountain?”  Mickey asked.

“We need to head up before the sun goes down.  We won’t be able to use the headlights – they might be seen in town.”

What looked like panic was building in Mickey’s eyes, and Ian could see it.  He went to Mickey and grasped his shoulders.  “Mick. Mickey, look at me.  We’re going to leave. You’re ok.”

Mickey pushed Ian off hard, then pushed him again, making him stumble back a step or two before hitting the wall.

“Stop treating me like you fucking think I’m scared!  I ain’t scared of shit, got it?” He ran his hands through his hair then thumbed at his nose. He was sick and fucking tired of Ian treating him like he was some dame in distress.  He shook his head at Ian before heading to the bedroom.

Mickey was getting out of his wet clothes when Ian walked in, “Hey, Mickey.  I … listen, I didn’t mean anything by that.  I just… I’m just trying to keep you safe, ok?”

Mickey spun on him and pushed him back hard again.  “ _You’re_ trying to keep _me_ safe?  What the fuck makes you think I need anyone to keep me safe?  I’m perfectly fucking capable of covering my own ass.  Been doing it my entire life.” 

He found a dry pair of pants in the bureau and double checked them to ensure they didn’t belong to Fiona.  Ian stood back and watched him dress, dumbfounded.

“Ok.  Then why are you so mad at me right now?  What’s going on here?”  Ian asked cautiously.

Mickey took in a heavy breath, letting it out in frustration, “I’m fucking trying to keep _you_ safe, asshole. Your entire family and this whole fucking town! I need to know what the hell is going on, without any of your goddamn secret spy code shit you got going on, so that I CAN KEEP YOUR GINGER ASS FUCKING OUT OF PRISON AND ALIVE, IAN!”  he yelled

They stood looking at one another again, each of them desperate to protect the other. 

“Ok.”  Ian stated.  “Ok. Then let’s sit down and make a plan.  Let’s get this done.”

“No! Your fucking plan is for me to keep running like some beat dog with its tail between its legs. I don’t fucking run, got that?”

“Mick..”

  
“No, fuck you if you think I’m gonna run up that fucking mountain to hide.  We either stay right here, or we go back to town.  What’s it gonna be?”

***

Fiona, Kevin, and Vee had all gathered back at the Gallagher house.  Carl hadn’t been seen again since he drove past the Outfitters a few hours earlier. Lip came walking in the back door kicking mud from his boots carelessly, spreading chunks of it around the floor.

“Carl called. Said Sheila asked him to stay up at the house to help her out with something tonight.”  Lip said as he walked into the Gallagher kitchen.  “Figured it was code for ‘Carl still has that asshole tagging along.’   Better they stay there than here, I guess.”

“Yeah, I got the same message from Mrs. Owens in town.”

Lip nodded.  “How ‘bout those other men, from the diner?  Lost track of them this morning.  Where did they go?”

“Asked a lot of questions around town, mostly about Frank. The phone was going crazy all day with everyone checking in, but I’m pretty sure they’ve left town for now. I’m guessing it won’t be the last time we see them though."  Fiona took a seat at the table across from Lip.  “What the fuck, right?”

“Yeah, no kidding.   Is everything set with the Speakeasy?” Lip asked, taking a seat beside Kevin at the table.

“Yeah, it’s mostly gutted right now, except for some stock in the cellar.  The boys moved the old stills into the main room, and some tables and chairs.  Gotta leave something, behind, right?”

“Guess so.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Did you guys know Clayton was in town?  He was out at the warehouse for about ten minutes. Drunk as shit, walking around out there in the snow without a jacket. Was going on about his hidden treasure again, but all he got was a few bottles of whiskey under his arm before he left.  I don’t know where he is now.”

“With any luck, passed out drunk in a gutter.”  Fiona offered.

“That’s all we need right now,” Lip added, exhausted from the day that was barely half over.  “Have everyone keep an eye out for him.  If he’s still here, let’s get him to the house where we can keep an eye on him.”

“Is everything set with Ian?” Fiona asked.

Lip nodded, “Yep. They should be on the road soon. I’m not too concerned.  Carl will pull the damn battery cables to stall before he’ll take Sullivan up that mountain.  We have time.”  Lip stood to head up the back stairs, “You think it’s too much trouble to ask for another snowstorm tonight?”

“Not gonna happen, kid.  Might was well get ready for whatever bullshit is coming our way. I just hope the snow melted enough on the roads up there so Ian isn’t leaving a trail behind him when he goes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are always appreciated!


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